You Can Never Go Back
by Sage of Angst
Summary: Construction begins on the new future. 'We've been holding their hands for too long...it's time for humans to learn to defend their own planet.' Mirai GhVi
1. Hind Sight, Fore Sight

_Author's Notes_: I can hear you all already, "What? Another fic, before she's even finished _It's a Start_ or _Parable of the Eagle_?" Yes, another fic before any of that. _It's a Start_ is almost over, I'll let you know that much, and once I'm done with that, I'm gonna need something else to occupy my time—I can't just do one-shots! So this idea came to me a little while back—with a little help from Psycho Ann's one-shot _Close Your Eyes_—and I just had to get it started. I hope this lives up to whatever standards I've set for myself. Without further ado, on with the first chapter!

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_You Can Never Go Back_

_Chapter One: Hind Sight, Fore Sight_

   Staring out into the darkening sky washed over with violet, he began to think from his post, perched precariously atop one of the tallest buildings left among the ruins of what had once been a great metropolis.

   How long…how long has it been? He couldn't remember anymore—had forgotten long ago. For sure more than a year, more than two he would say. Three? Three…yes, three sounded like a nice round number. Three. Three long years, alone, on the run, not daring to go back, not daring to move on. Home was far away, so far away it was another lifetime. 

   But oh, how he _missed_ it. How he missed the times of peace, when he, his father, and mother would all gather around the dining room table at night and dive into one of Chichi's magnificent feasts. They would talk, laugh, enjoy life to the fullest, basking in the warmth of each other's love. But those times, he was forced to admit, were few and far between, even when Goku was still alive. It seemed there was always some new enemy the Saiyan had to train to defeat, which left little time for frivolities like family. 

   Yes, that image he kept ingrained in his mind was nothing more than a dream—a vision of what would have been the ideal atmosphere at the Son home. A lie. 

_   Daddy died_…_Daddy died three years ago_… 

   But it wasn't just his father. No, his father had only been the _beginning_ of all the death, of all the horrible destruction and chaos soon to follow his passing. He would dare say his father's demise was the _cause_ of all the horror to come. For if Goku…if Goku hadn't died, he could have protected them all, protected them all from _them_.

   The androids.

   If only they could have seen it coming, if only there had been some _warning_, if only they had been able to prepare, _if only_…if only a lot of things. 

   He absently flicked a chunk of pebble-sized concrete from the building ledge, watching lazily as it streaked into the distance. He half-heartedly pushed his senses out into the rubble of what was left of the downtown district, scanning for some—_any_ sign of life, though fully expecting to find none. He knew first-hand how thorough the androids were when they ravaged a city, leaving no stone unturned, no building standing, and no life _anywhere_. It was all just a big game to them, and you got points deducted by not finishing the job. 

   He still fought sometimes, you know, still helped out when he could—but it was quickly becoming too much for one lone demi-Saiyan to bear. He was alone, all alone now…Piccolo, Yamcha, Tien, Krillin…even _Vegeta_ was gone. The Prince of Saiyans, taken out in a single blow by the female, Number 18. 

   It had actually been grimly funny to watch him die. All his life he'd been trapped in "Kakarrot's" shadow, forever following behind with respect to power, and he'd finally achieved that which he most desired: Super Saiyan status. Ironically it was his anger and fury at Goku's demise that pushed him over the edge. Feeling more alone than ever, without even so much as his rival to banter with, it all exploded one summer's night in a canyon a few hundred miles from Orange Star City. He'd done it, finally reached that hidden plateau denied him for so long. But what was even worse was how little difference it made.

   Gohan now saw the mistake the elder Saiyan made—one that seemed ingrained in the prince's system—he was too cocky, too self-assured. No sooner had he gained this newfound power than he was off to fight 17 and 18. It was sad, really. For the first time in his life he was actually fighting for something other than himself: he was fighting for the Earth, for all the innocent lives these monsters had taken.

   But it mattered not one bit. All his power: useless against them. And it was while watching him die, being pounded into a bloody unrecognizable pulp that Gohan promised himself that would never happen to him. He absolutely would _not_ be a useless sacrifice. He would fight the androids, yes, but he would not die like Vegeta: he would not die for his pride. 

   He would always make sure he came out of the "spars" alive. For that was what he considered his bouts with the androids: spars, mock battles. Though they might not have realized it, he was always fighting with the knowledge he couldn't win. Winning, however, was never his ultimate purpose—at least, not yet. They were the tools of their own undoing. Never get killed, he ordered himself, always get out. 

   His mother cried the night he left: this much he remembered. He could still see her in his dreams, clinging desperately to his gi, soaking it with her tears. He could still hear her sobbing his name, begging him with all her heart not to leave her: she'd already lost Goku, how could _he_ abandon her too? It seemed logic didn't work with her, and no matter how vehemently he assured her he'd survive and visit often, it failed to comfort her. Eventually he could reason no more, and he just left, blasted out the door bound for the last city the androids had been sighted at. Her voice stayed with him for miles, carried on the air to his ears, before eventually fading away. 

   He would track them across continents, from city to city, remote village to urban metropolis he would follow them. Sometimes he would try and stop them, placing himself between a deadly blast and a group of people, urging them to flee, but it never paid off. He would always have to retreat in the end—for his promise to himself—and they'd simply round up the few that had managed to escape and use them for target practice, laughing in their cold monotone voices at the pathetic humans.

   Forever training himself and pushing his limits, he was pleased to announce he'd finally broken the barrier dividing normal Saiyan from Super Saiyan many months ago. Where had it been…where…oh yes, now he remembered. For that was the image which haunted his nightmares…

* * *

   East City was under attack then—now it was just a big black crater—and he'd followed the screams and military arsenal to the city's main entrance, watching from a building ledge as the pair simply strolled through the gate, greeted with missiles and machine gun fire. Naturally none of this had any effect whatsoever on the duo, who responded to the welcome with strategic ki blasts, bringing the building Gohan had been seated on down upon the tanks and soldiers. He'd cursed himself for hesitating the few moments it took him to spring into action—perhaps he was getting tired of always failing at the task it had been entrusted to him to carry out—it was all mere routine. He was the only one left to save them all, everyone else was gone. 

   The last of the Son men, it was logical he'd step up and take his father's place. Yet he failed miserably time and time again. He just wasn't strong enough yet, he'd argue with himself. Why waste time fighting when you know you can't win?! What use is it? 

   _Daddy would've fought_…_ Daddy would've fought no matter what_…

   Well, Daddy wasn't around anymore. It was up to him to see that it all worked out, that everything returned to the way it was supposed to be. The way it was before it all went so wrong. 

   The androids had moved into the middle of the city now, and he found himself floating in the air above a raging inferno. Entire city blocks were ablaze, and the tortured cries of thousands of souls trapped in high-rises reached his ears only to be muffled by yet another blast and more screams. The streets below were a raging flood of human bodies—some moving, some not—and at the center of all the chaos were those responsible for it. 

   They smiled at their handiwork, turning this way and that to blast a random passerby or another building, cold eyes reflecting the red light of the fires which raged around them. Dumbstruck, he just floated for what seemed an eternity, the carnage unfolding before his eyes. 

   Something caught 17's eye suddenly, and he lowered his finger, a smirk edging its way onto his face. Stepping gracefully forward, he maneuvered his way around a blazing heap of metal—once a car—and into an alley. There, behind a dumpster, cowered a little girl clutching a doll to her chest, her parents a few feet away lying motionless in a pool of blood. Sensing someone coming up behind her, she whipped her head around, her green eyes widening at the sight of the black-haired youth. Gripping the back of her neck he snatched her up with lightning celerity and sauntered back over to his sister.

   "A young one," Gohan remembered him sneering, the child twitching under his grasp. "What should we do with it?" His tone made it evident he knew perfectly well what to do with it.

   18 stared straight into the little girl's eyes and smirked just as her brother had done. "Toss it."

   Hardly needing any further orders, 17 flung the child, still gripping her doll fiercely, into the air, nearly colliding with Gohan, while 18 raised a disinterested hand and vaporized the girl right in front of his eyes. The high-pitched screams stayed in his mind long after her tiny form had disintegrated, and he couldn't help but remember how they had executed Krillin in much the same way.

   Krillin…that poor human had been the last of his species on their team to die. He'd had to watch as Yamcha and Tien went before him, practically waiting his turn in line to be killed. It made no difference that the three had attacked all at the same time; the androids took their time in dispatching the human Z-fighters. One right after another they fell, and when they reached Krillin, they'd tossed him—just like that little girl. 

   Gohan wasn't sure the man's survival was a blessing though…He'd rocketed back to the ground missing half his limbs, lacking even the strength to stare death in the face. The last thing he'd seen was the blinding light of two ki blasts aimed at his heart.

   And then Piccolo…his teacher, his mentor, his _friend_… He'd jumped in to help—his fusion with the Earth's guardian Kami had made him arguably the most powerful fighter on their team then. But just like Vegeta, it made no difference; maybe if he could've taken them one at a time—_maybe_ he could've done it. But those monsters ganged up on him, and with two on one it didn't take long for him to crumble as well. Gohan didn't remember how Mr. Piccolo died—he'd turned his head so he didn't have to watch—but the screams that assaulted his ears assured him it was a painful way to go.

_   Everyone_…_forgive me please—forgive me forgive me_…_I let you down and I'm sorry—I let you all down_…_Daddy_…

   As he hovered there, images and memories of his friends' deaths flashing through his mind at light speed, something inside cracked. All this time he'd hidden, all this time he'd cowered in fear, run away. He didn't help Krillin and Piccolo and the others; he sat back and watched them all die die die. They'd called out to him, called for help, they couldn't die—but they _had _died, he'd seen it with his own eyes. He was useless, weak, a milk-sop unworthy of the Saiyan blood in his veins, and surely this wasn't the son of Goku, surely not…

   His eyes flashed in fury, oscillating between black and a cold empty blue—the blue of a Super Saiyan. Wind whipped around him, ruffling his hair and fueling the flames below which reached up higher and higher, licking his tiny form with scalding tongues. He paid them no attention—all he could focus on was the scream still rattling inside his head. It got louder and louder the longer he stood there, not even caring that its sheer volume was actually painful. Only when it shot up another octave did he realize that it was actually _he_ who was yelling. The girl was gone, everything was red, and all he heard was his own cry. 

   They were looking straight at him now, the noise alerting them to his presence, watching him more in curiosity than fear or worry—it was _amusing_. Another Saiyan—they hadn't killed them all already? My my, this certainly made things more interesting…

   No time, no time! He had to make it as quick as possible. Finally comprehending the transformation occurring, he cupped his hands behind him as he'd seen his father and the others do. It'd been so long since he used this attack, so very very long…

   "_Ka_…"

   They smiled at him, perhaps feeling a twinge of pity for him. The poor little fool—he wasn't _seriously_ going to try that attack was he?

   "_Me_…"

   Well, they would give this planet one thing: its inhabitants certainly tried hard to defend it. Casting a quick glance at one another, the brother and sister mirrored Gohan's move and cupped their own hands behind their back, chanting along with him.

   "_Ha_…" A trio of voices uttered the third syllable, and the energy strained at three pairs of palms, yearning to break free of the tethers of will holding it in place.

   "_Me_…" Gohan's hair flashed in the fading light, lit up in a more brilliant gold color than that of the female android below him. Great shadows lengthened along the streets, engulfing dead bodies and piles of rubble as the three energy balls grew brighter and larger. 

   "_HAA!_" came three fury-laden yells as two beams rocketed upwards to meet the third, exploding in a blinding flash of light and smoke. The shockwaves sent Gohan and the androids in separate directions, making for an easy escape, though his blast served no greater purpose than that. East City was a smoking crater now, with the only evidence it even existed being a small sign along the highway: "East City, Five Miles."

* * *

   Following the East City battle he'd trained non-stop in an effort to ascend once more, harnessing the anger and rage he felt at watching his friends die needlessly and channeling it to shoot him through the barrier, releasing his Super Saiyan powers. After months of training it began to take less and less concentration to transform, and by now he was able to lock onto the memory at will, exploding in a blast of light and energy, just like his dad.

   He flicked another piece of concrete off the roof into the rubble of the city below, still straining to sense any kis. Nothing. All dead. But it wasn't that big of a disappointment really—he hadn't expected any different. Death was an all too common occurrence these days, almost mundane, banal. For three years it had been this way. 

   Three years…it's been too long. He heaved his thirteen-year-old body upright, standing and regarding the destruction below for a moment. Another city reduced to a ghost town, just like so many others before, just like so many more in the future. Turning his head to the horizon in the west, he saw a curl of smoke inching its way above the mountains, barely visible against the lavender evening sky. They were at it again—didn't they _sleep_?

   Slowly he lifted into the air, hovering barely a foot above the ledge, eyes still focused on the tendril of smoke in the distance. 

   Time for another spar.

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_Post-Chapter Notes_: If you haven't noticed yet, this will be set in the Mirai timeline. It'll be a low start, but eventually will be Mirai Gohan/Mirai Videl (duh, Gh/Vi is pretty much all I write). I might bend a couple of happenings to suit my angst-fancy, but on the whole this will follow Trunks' future line as best I can manage it. _Hopefully_ I won't screw it up too badly, and if I do, feel free to yell at me about it—in review form of course ^_^. I should really be getting back to my other stories (I still owe everyone a review special for IAS!), but I'm actually having a lot of fun with this line, so I may as well milk it for all it's worth. Alright, enough rambling—_sage_  


	2. No Innocents Harmed

_Author's Notes_: Glad to see this fic is being well received, and all I've got to say is get ready: it's the Mirai line like you've never seen! With that, I give you chapter two! Man this is kinda long…

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_Chapter Two: No Innocents Harmed_

   Where were they now? He'd let them get too far ahead… he cursed himself aloud at allowing them to gain such distance on him. He was starting to lose his edge tracking them… it was all becoming so pointless.

   Gohan wandered the empty city streets slowly, aimlessly, like a drifter with no particular place to be. Hands stuffed deep in his gi pockets, he kept his eyes focused mostly on the road directly in front of him, every now and then glancing to the side at another abandoned store or office building. He came across an empty aluminum can after a few blocks and lightly kicked it ahead a couple of feet, catching up to it after a moment. He repeated the action again and again before eventually tiring of the childish diversion, sending the can rocketing into the mountains far to the west. Sighing, he turned a corner, rounding a shop that once sold furniture.

   Pausing a moment he gazed intently at the window: his reflection. He held a hand up and wiggled his fingers, ascertaining that the stranger staring back was in fact himself. His jet-black hair had lengthened quite a bit, hanging just below his shoulders in a style he was sure his mother would label, "hoodlum-esque." Like his father, his bangs sprouted from his forehead in every direction, forever wild, unable to be tamed by the fiercest of combs. Perhaps, he mused, he'd find some shower facility somewhere in the city; he could cut his hair after a decent bath quite easily—and even _he_ was starting to smell himself, so he could imagine how the odor greeted other noses.

   He lowered his hand, eyes still focused on his own face, when movement from the other side if the window caught his eye. It was very quick, imperceptible to a human most likely, but he'd seen it. Cautiously he edged around to the entry doors.

   Surely…surely the androids weren't still here, were they? It had been ages since this city had been attacked—there was nothing left! But if this wasn't the androids…who was it?

   Giving an experimental tug on the doors he was surprised to see they swung open easily—the lock had been broken some time ago apparently. The interior of the store was dark, the only light that of the fading sun streaming in from the front windows. His vision, however, was well adapted to seeing in the dark, and the room may as well have been lit up clear as day. Extending his senses around the walls and corners inside the store, he was actually surprised to note a large gathering of ki near the back of the shop, and a few others scattered about: not one large energy, but many small ones! There was one particularly close right now—perhaps the movement he'd seen?—just around one of the walls set up in front of him dividing the different furniture displays.

   He could sense it tensing, indicated by a slight rise in the small signature, and slowly he backed up against the wall, closing his eyes and listening through the thick plaster. Yes, there it was: breathing! Breathing—someone was still here! Someone—no, _more _than one person had escaped the androids! Amazing! He suppressed a slight smile from the excitement that he wasn't alone—there were others still left. His eyes shot back open, and he inched his way to the edge, prepping to pounce around the corner…wait for it…_now_!

    "_AAH_!" came the surprisingly high-pitched scream as Gohan sprang from around the corner, knocking his stalker to the ground and landing straddled atop it. Immediately most of the lights in the seemingly-abandoned store buzzed and flickered to life, flooding the entire building in bright warm light. 

   "Get _off_ me!" his stalker yelled again, shoving him upward with her small yet powerful hands—for it was a _she_. Gohan's mouth gaped open, and he fumbled dumbly for words as he found himself suddenly staring into angry blue eyes. _Very_ angry blue eyes. "Didn't you hear me, you idiot, get _off me_!" Another enraged shove sent the young demi-Saiyan toppling from his post atop the blue-eyed girl and onto his back on the floor. He barely had time to register being thrown off before she was up on her feet, hands raised defensively, her foot poised over his throat in what she assumed was a deadly position. And she might have been right had Gohan been a normal human; as it was, all she would have done had she tried to crush his windpipe with the side of her foot was break her ankle. 

   At any rate, she was now quite ready for any attack Gohan might have dished out and was decidedly ticked about being caught off guard. "What do you want?" she snarled in a very unwomanly manner. "Who are you?! Are you with those androids? Huh? _Answer me_!" Apparently Gohan's habit of stupidly fumbling for words had only enraged her more, and she removed her foot from his throat only to bend down and grab him by the throat of his gi, pulling him up to her level, her other fist raised threateningly.

   "You better start talking fast, mister, or—"

   "C-calm down!" He raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm not here to hurt anyone—I'm not with the androids!"

   She raised an eyebrow, mouth still turned down in a deep frown. "Oh? And just why should I believe _that_? You look pretty suspicious to me!"

   "Hon-honest! It's the truth, miss!" He forced a smile to try and persuade her—but apparently the Son charm wasn't as effective as it used to be, as all she did was slightly relax her hold on his gi, releasing him to stand on his own feet. 

   "If you're not here for any trouble, then just why _are_ you here?" she asked pointedly, fists held at her sides but still clenched should they need to be used.

   Struggling for an excuse, Gohan coughed out, "I'm just—just passing through! I just got here, I was looking for a place to stay for the night! Really!"

   She cocked her head to the side, disbelief evident. "No one just _passes through_ Orange Star City anymore—everyone knows that. At least, everyone that's _left_ knows that. No one's stupid enough to wander out alone past night, even if the androids _have_ already been here."

   "Huh, really?" Everyone that was left, huh? "There are others here? Other people survived?"

   Frown softening into one of mild annoyance, she ran her eyes up and down his figure, quickly deducing he wasn't there to harm any of them, then turned to walk away beckoning him to follow her. "Not many, but yes—others survived." Waving a hand at the store around her, she continued, "We live in the abandoned stores around the city; this is just our place for the week. We make it a habit not to stay in the same place for too long, since other less-charming-than-yourself wanderers sometimes find their way in." Gohan's gaze flitted around the store, falling upon the bed-sets that looked as if they'd been slept in recently.

   "How many—"

   "About eighteen to twenty children at a time. Some of us—like myself—travel around the city for a few days a week searching for other survivors to bring back here. We figure safety in numbers." She quickly stopped and turned on her heel to face him fully, her black locks pulled into a ponytail bouncing upon her head, and extended a hand before him. "I'm Videl."

   Startled, he looked down at the hand for a moment before comprehending and returning the gesture to shake it. "Gohan."

   "Gohan, huh?" Smiling, she released his hand and clapped loudly three times in a row, yelling out, "Ok, guys! You can come out! The new kid's alright!"

   Blinking, Gohan's head snapped around to focus all around, and children began pouring out from hiding places all around the store. Some crawled out from under beds and tables, others from piles of cushions and pillows, while still more burst from behind a steel door towards the back of the store. Gathering in a tight circle around Gohan and Videl, they immediately began firing questions from all sides at the startled demi-Saiyan, whose mouth fell open in shock—so _many_! So many had escaped! But…_how_?!

   "Who are you? Where're ya from? Did you see the androids? Are you gonna live here with us too?" The questions kept pouring in and most likely would not have stopped had Videl not taken a stand atop a coffee table and called out loudly to get their attention.

"Al_right_! _QUIET_!" Her commanding voice echoed through the building, and it was frightening how immediately the room got quiet again. Not even Gohan dared make a peep, eyes tightly focused on the blue-eyed girl now towering over him. "You can all talk to Gohan later—he's staying with us tonight, so you'll have plenty of time to get to know him. But for now—" Her eyes darted around the group, searching out someone, "Hey, Amano." The crowd parted slightly to allow the tall brown-haired boy Videl had called to step forward. "Show Gohan to the bathroom and let him change—you've got some extra clothes lifted from the mall the other day, right?" He nodded. "Good—Gohan, we'll show you where you can sleep after that, alright?"

   "Uh, sure…" he nodded hesitantly, then sought out the boy she'd addressed as Amano. Once away from the group, the human began to question Gohan in much the same way Videl had before.

   "So, what brings you to Orange Star, Gohan?"

   "Oh, I, uh… I just kinda wander around, you know. My city got attacked a while back, but I managed to get out."

   Amano nodded grimly. "Same way here. We got attacked quite some time ago, but… I dunno, I guess we were lucky. For some reason the androids didn't destroy everything as quickly as they destroyed other cities… I remember seeing lots of flashes of lights when they first arrived, and lots of yelling…but other than that, it's all a big blur." A bunch of pillows had fallen from one of the beds, blocking their path, and the two bent to replace them on the bed and journeyed on.

   "So…how did so many kids get here? How did you meet?"

   "Well, most of us survived for at least a few days on our own, hiding until the androids moved on. After that, I guess it was luck that led us to Videl—or led her to us. She's the one who organized us all, who got us together. We've been on our own for close to two years now, grabbing other kids as we go. We haven't found any adults yet, though…"

   "Then, all of you…are…?"

   Amano sadly acknowledged him. "Orphans now. My parents… I don't really know what happened to them—I was at school when the attack came, and all the teachers sent us into this big underground bunker, but not everyone made it down there. I think about three or four of us are from my school, ones who escaped to the bunker." He reached in front of Gohan and opened the steel door before them, leading to the warehouse part of the store. "Bathroom's this way. Don't ask me why there's a shower area in a furniture store—maybe they like to keep their employees clean," he laughed dryly. 

   Gohan smiled and nodded his thanks. Amano pointed to a doorway on the eastern wall. "There're the showers—should be some soap and stuff in there, so you can go ahead and get started. I'll bring some clothes in soon, so just leave your old stuff on the bench. Someone'll pick them up and clean 'em later."

   "Thanks, Amano," Gohan said kindly, and set off for the bathroom at a run, eager to feel clean once more.

* * *

   Gohan sighed contentedly as the warm spray pelted his tired body, water running in tiny rivulets down his back and over his chest. He scrubbed his hair thoroughly, making sure to clean it well—who knew when he might get an opportunity like this again? The mirrors in the bathroom area soon fogged up, and soap swirled in a whirlpool down to the drain, peeling off what felt like layers of dirt with it. He stepped back under the stream of water one final time to make sure all the soap had been rinsed away, then reached forward, feeling for the knobs to turn off the spray.

   Blinking a few times, he rubbed his eyes and gave his head a massive shake, spattering water droplets everywhere. Somehow the towels hanging on the racks along the side wall remained relatively dry, and he quickly rubbed himself down before wrapping it around his waist. Exiting the shower area he noted a pile of clothes by the main door leading to the bathroom: clean ones! Silently he thanked the absent Amano and slipped into the sleep sweats and undershirt. It wasn't a gi, he noted, admiring himself in the full-length mirror, but it wasn't bad. 

   He draped the towel over his shoulder and swung open the door, stepping out into the chill of the main warehouse—greeted by a group of five small children, the eldest not appearing more than seven. "Hi Gohan!" they chorused, eyes wide and bright as they stared at the stranger in their midst.

   "Gah—eh, h-hi…" he stammered, surprised at the sudden greeting. Apparently Videl had dismissed the meeting while he'd been showering. Gingerly he edged around the group, their gazes not leaving him, and he hesitated to turn his back on them "I'm, uh…I'm gonna go back into the store now, alright?"

   Five heads bobbed up and down, nodding. "'K, Gohan!" He gave a weak smile and began backing up to the main door. After a few steps, though, the small group began mirroring his backward movements with forward steps of their own. Growing more worried with each passing moment, he quickened his pace slightly, with the children doing the same. Faster, faster he moved, as did they, until eventually he was in an all out run, now turned around and sprinting for the door, five kids hot on his heels.

   Panting, he finally grasped the handle in victory and slung it open, nearly ripping it off its hinges, and came face to face with a startled Videl. "V-Videl!" he cried nervously, then cast a frightened glance back at the mob pursuing him and shot past her. Confused, she turned to see what had caught him off guard so, and stuck a foot out, tripping five pairs of legs. The children rumpled to the floor in a heap near the doorway and looked up to see a peeved Videl towering over them, one foot tapping, waiting for an explanation.

   Gohan halted his retreat when he saw the group take a dive, then hesitantly eased back over to find out what was going on. 

   "And just _what_ do you think you're doing?" she grilled the five, eyeing them angrily, a frown etched on her features. "Why on Earth would our guest be _running_ from you—because I _know_ you weren't chasing him like you've done all the others, _were_ you?"

   Five heads shook vehemently, dispelling any doubt as to the purity of their intentions. "We—we just wanted to say hi, Miss Videl! Really!" Four other voices joined in, corroborating the first.

   "Oh, is _that_ what it was, Sari?" The little girl of about six nodded brightly, her curly red locks bouncing as she did so. "Well then, I think you should _all_ apologize to Mr. Gohan, what do you think?"

   Five monotone voices rejoined, "We're sorry Mr. Gohan…"

   "Good, now you all run along and play somewhere else for right now—I need to talk with our new guest." A stampede of feet fled the area, off to some unknown play place, and Videl watched them leave with a small smile on her face. "They're really not so bad for their age, you know." She turned her head to face Gohan. "They've all lost their parents, only had other children for role models—whenever an older kid joins our group they all latch onto him like an older brother. Sorry about that…"

   He watched the horde split into five separate entities as they left to play, then waved off her apology. "Don't worry about it—no big deal. They just kinda startled me when I got out of the shower."

   Her eyes lit up. "Oh—that reminds me! I came to get you so I could show you where you can sleep!"

   Oooh…a real _bed_! Not a tree branch, not a cave, not an alleyway—a _bed_! "Sounds great!" he lied—it actually sounded _wonderful_, heavenly even… She set off around a corner and he quickly followed, nearly stepping on her heels a few times. His rest area apparently was located on the other side of the store with a group of three other boys, Amano being one of the three. 

   Holding out a hand, Videl introduced his roommates. "Amano you already know—" The brown-headed boy nodded. "—the other two are Niko and Nole." Gohan good-naturedly shook hands with the other boys—apparently twins, and already he was confused as to which was which. 

   Seeing his confusion, Amano smiled and leaned over, whispering, "Don't worry, even _I_ still get confused about who's who. Just fake it, they don't care…" 

   "Well, if you're all set here…" Videl's sharp voice interrupted the one-sided conversation, snapping Gohan's attentions back to her as the tone she took was wont to do. 

   "Ah, actually…I was wondering," he fingered the ends of his shoulder-length mass of hair, "Do you happen to have any scissors?"

* * *

   Thus passed the first evening of Gohan's first week with the Orange Star survivors. He'd expected to only stay that one night at first, intent on leaving the next morning to catch up with the androids lest they get any further ahead of him after his little detour. However, his plans were quickly tossed aside as he spent more and more time with his new friends. Amano was eager to show him the ropes of being an elder: Story-time with the younger children was an experience that left him more worn out than any battle with the androids. Between dodging flying toys and flying food, he was surprised he hadn't had to transform to keep up with Sari and her gang of faithful pre-school followers.

   Another few days with the twins, and he'd finally managed to tell them apart by personality if not by appearance: Niko was the more outgoing, adventurous type, always begging to be allowed to come on scouting missions with Videl and Amano, while Nole seemed quite content to "play" with the younger children, helping out in their education while the others were away. It was amazing that the two were even related, let alone twins. Gohan had stayed behind with the twins for the first couple of days while Videl and Amano slipped into the city for food and clothing runs, but he was quickly tiring of this. Something was stirring inside of him, urging him to move on—and he eventually realized that it was his Saiyan blood bubbling within. 

   It'd been nearly a week since he'd arrived in Orange Star, a week since he'd had to look twice before entering or leaving a city, a week since he'd trained in any way, shape, or form. A week of peace. And though he knew it couldn't last and that he should be thankful for the break he was getting, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he sat inside with Nole, smiling and having fun with little Sari as they played hide-and-go-seek or tag.

   Somewhere out there, near or far away, were those killing machines, doing what they did best: slaughtering millions of innocent lives while he lounged around, growing weak, fighting senses dulling. While he laughed, others cried out in pain and fury at the injustice of it all. He had the power to save so many—yet here he was, hiding, wasting it. 

   And so it was because of these feelings welling up that he juggled them for another week before approaching Videl one evening some two weeks after he'd arrived with the request to join her and Amano the next day. "I'd like to help, Videl, in any way I can."

   She stared at him strangely. "Well… thanks anyway for the offer, Gohan, but I think Amano and I can handle—"

   "Please," he said more forcefully and seriously, driving home the fact that he would not take "no" for an answer. Her eyebrows furrowed quizzically, but for some reason unknown to her at the time she relented and agreed to allow him along. "Thank you," was his monotone expression of gratitude, and her eyes followed him worriedly as he retreated to his pallet for the night.

* * *

   "But—Amano!" came the indignant exclamation from the twin known as Niko. "_Gohan_ gets to go too?! How fair is _that_?" His face twisted into an offended frown.

   "It's perfectly fair, Niko," Amano sighed exasperatedly, running a finger through his smooth short-cropped brown tresses, "Because Gohan's three years older than you—and I'm pretty sure _he_ won't get into any sort of trouble while we're ou—"

   "Hey! When have _I_ ever gotten into trouble whi—"

   "_Please_ don't tempt me to answer that question, kid," Amano retorted, rolling his eyes, adjusting the sheets on his mattress as he made his bed. "Why don't you go play with Nole or something until we get back."

   It was now Niko's turn to roll his eyes. "Tsk, _duh_. 'Cause I'm not a nerd, that's why. All he does is play with the little kids."

   "You _are_ a little kid, Niko," Videl reminded, stepping into the boys' area. "You guys ready? I wanna get started looking before the sun gets too far up—don't wanna be out in that city when it starts to get too hot, y'know?"

   "Me neither—ready, Gohan?" A curt nod from the demi-Saiyan, and the three set off at a run for the front of the store, racing each other out the door.

   Once they'd traveled a few blocks from the store entrance, all three slowed to a stop to formulate some sort of plan for the day's activities. "Alright," Videl began, the natural leader, "Our top priority today is finding a new place to house the kids—we've been living in the furniture store for weeks now, much longer than I'd originally planned, and I think it's time we move on. I've already seen a few shady looking guys hanging around the alley across from the front entrance—that should be all the push we need to find a new place, 'kay?" Two heads nodded in agreement. "Good, okay Amano—you'll head east first, for…we'll say five blocks. Check out everything you can: food, clothes, rest areas, but keep sleeping quarters at the top of the list." Another nod and Amano was gone, feet slapping loudly against the pavement as he tore away.

   "Now, Gohan, since you're new to the city and haven't been around much, I just want you to check out streets parallel to the ones I'm on, alright? I'll head down another block and call out when I'm ready. After that we'll yell to each other at every street crossing to make sure you don't get lost, okay?"

   Gohan nodded firmly, watching intently as she ambled down the block, throwing him a thumbs-up sign that meant she was ready. His gaze traveled from building to building as he started to wander down the block. The vast majority were unrecognizable and derelict, bearing black scorch marks noting where ki blasts had incinerated walls—and people. Every now and then he might come upon one with the sign still legible, and he would take a moment to peer in the window. Usually, though, the sign was all that hadn't been destroyed, leaving the store useless for their purposes. 

   Videl's voice would call to him from a few feet ahead on the next street over, and he would jog to the intersection, moving on to the next block of businesses from there. This routine continued for a few hours until they decided to turn back—they were all supposed to meet at the front doors at noon to get lunch with the main group.

   "Find anything, you two?" Amano called out as they coincidentally converged on the spot they'd separated on, three blocks from the entrance. Gohan and Videl shook their heads to the negative. "Yeah, me neither. I _did_ happen across what was left of a book store though," he laughed half-heartedly. "Mostly romance novels though—and I don't think we really want Sari or the others getting their hot little hands on _those_…"

   They continued to chat good-naturedly about their various morning finds as they made their way back to the furniture store. One block away, they prepared to turn the corner, when black smoke billowing into the air from the direction of their building caught their eyes, sending dread coursing through their veins. "The kids!" they chorused, frantic, and covered the last bit of ground to the store at a frenzied run.

   Screeching to a halt at the front entry, they slung the glass doors open, sending more smoke rolling into the streets, as well as releasing a flood of children, coughing, eyes tightly shut. Gohan and Amano slipped in to make sure everyone made it out, while Videl corralled them into one big group, taking a head count to ascertain who was present and who was absent. The two boys emerged a moment later with the last of the children held in their arms. Niko was one of them, covered in black soot and trying to wriggle his way from Gohan's strong grasp.

   "Hey—lemme go, Gohan! I can walk fine!" Worriedly the demi-Saiyan did as asked, but Videl was not so tactful when approaching the child.

   "_NIKO_! _What_ happened?! _Why_ is there smoke coming from our home—" Gohan and Amano had slipped away and were currently working frantically trying to put out what had caused the smoke: a cooking fire started in one of the faux kitchen areas, "—and _why_ are you covered in soot?!"

   The twin did what Gohan would have sworn was a perfect imitation of the Son grin, complete with stretching his hand behind his head. "Well, heh, y'see, Miss Videl…"

   "Don't you '_Miss Videl_' me, little man—_answer me_!"

   "Gah—ah, I was—it was—I wanted to surprise you all when you got back from your scouting! I was gonna make a big cake in the kitchen area!"

   "Niko," she sighed, frustrated, "We don't _have_ a kitchen area."

   "Yeah, not _anymore_…" he muttered in an undertone. "Well, it looked like a real kitchen to me!"

   She rolled her eyes at his futile attempt to play off the blame on account of adorable naïveté. "How long have we been living here, kid? You _know_ we don't have any kitchen area!"

   His deep blue eyes met her own, growing large and watery as if the floodgates were about to open, unleashing a deluge of tears upon her. "I…I'm sorry Miss Videl!" he cried. "I promise it won't happen again!"

   A bit embarrassed by the sudden outburst and the way her shirt was now being soaked with tears, she gingerly patted Niko on the back, and repeated this action until Gohan and Amano approached her after ten minutes with the damage report.

   "Should've known it was him," Amano muttered, seeing the twin standing next to Videl, being comforted. "You're not letting him get you with that innocent act again, are you Videl?"

   "He said he was sorry, and if the damage isn't that much…"

   "Geez, you're such a soft touch—anyway, hope we weren't going to use that kitchen mock-up for anything later, it's totally destroyed, one big black splotch on the wall now. Other than that, we're one sleeping bag short—"

   "Well, Niko can sleep with Nole until we get a new place then. Whoever's bag he destroyed can have his old one."

   "Alright," he nodded, "and we might want to keep the doors open at least until nightfall to let all the smoke clear out. After that we'll…" Amano continued to discuss other aspects of the damage with Videl, but Gohan tuned out, thoughts turning inward.

   He was more aware now of how long it had been since he'd left the outside world, how long since he'd seen the androids—_fought_ the androids… When they'd turned that corner and he'd laid eyes on that thick black smoke billowing out into the streets, his first thought had been, _'Oh Kami—they're here! They're here, they found us!'_ He'd actually grown somewhat accustomed to this life in the short time he'd been staying in Orange Star. Not having to worry about keeping hot on the androids' heels, or getting out of a battle alive, or saving others for a moment, only to have them picked off for target practice later… He would admit, guiltily, that he wanted to stay here.

   He wanted to stay here, even though he knew deep down it wouldn't last. It _couldn't_ last, not something so right. Here with these children, other kids his own age, like a normal life…

   Something had to go wrong at some time; the only question was, _When?_

* * *

   Another month passed before Gohan could bat an eye, and suddenly he turned around and there was a birthday to celebrate: one of Sari's group of adorable mischief-makers, named Yuna. Yuna, like little Sari, hid her devilish demeanor behind wide bright green eyes peering out from beneath gleaming golden locks perpetually pulled up into pigtails. Apparently she was turning six today, as she announced from her post sitting atop Gohan's chest.

   It had been startling to say the least when he was rudely awakened by the yelling in his ear of, "_I'M SIX TODAY, GOHAN!_" with his own black eyes popping open to stare straight into Yuna's green ones, shining with mirth and excitement. He'd nearly knocked her over, instinctively shooting into the air—albeit only a foot before realizing others might be looking—and crumpling back to the ground. Yuna merely looked on curiously, then leaned over his nearly-unconscious form, whispering again, "I'm six today, Gohan…"

   "Eh…I noticed, Yuna… Why don't you go tell Videl now?" he forced out weakly, ears still ringing. She nodded enthusiastically, thrilled with the idea, then scampered off to the girls' area, eager to inform the leader of their group of the importance of the day. Videl would thank him later via a quick smack to the head and a, "What'd ya send her over to me for?!"

   Whenever one of the children had a birthday, it was always made sure that they got some sort of present, and that was first on the agenda for Gohan, Videl, and Amano for the day. While the search for new living quarters remained forever at the forefront of their scouting missions, it was set down a peg by the urgent need to get:

   "A bunny."

   "A _bunny_?" chorused two perplexed male voices.

   "A bunny. Not a _real_ one, of course, just a doll or something. I know there used to be a toy store over on Fifty-first Street, and if we set out now we can make it back by early afternoon, I think."

   "A _bunny_…?"

   She scoffed at their blank stares. "Oh come _on_, guys…she's a little girl—not Niko or one of the other guys! And she wants a bunny, so she shall have a bunny. Now _move_!"

   "Y-yes ma'am!"

   Videl naturally led the way as she'd lived in the city the longest and had been the first of the group to dart out on scouting missions, searching for other survivors. In the early days she would go out for a few hours during the day, always returning before nightfall. As the group grew, so did her courage, and sometimes she would stay out for two to three days at a time, once reaching the city's northern gate before returning home empty-handed after having spent two miserable nights sleeping in an alleyway. Oftentimes, though, after such extended trips she would bring back food, clothes, toiletries, and—sometimes—even new people. Yuna and the twins were prime examples of orphans she found on one of her scouting trips. 

   By mid-day the small group had reached the ruins of the toy store. Much to their relief the androids hadn't wasted time mindlessly destroying the building, settling for simply bringing the roof down on the occupants inside. Nimbly maneuvering their way in, each of the three took a different aisle, searching for the elusive stuffed bunny. Amano was the lucky one to discover that the video game aisle was in relatively decent condition, as were most of the consoles and games. "Man, the guys are gonna _freak_! Why didn't we come here sooner, Videl?!"

   "The bunny, Amano. We're looking for the bunny right now. Put the video games back—we can get them later." She latched herself onto his arm and began dragging him away, his fingers still flailing about trying to reach the elusive controller beckoning him nearer.

   "Hey—Videl! Lemme go! Videl! Vid—_NOOOOOOOOO_!" His screams could be heard back at the furniture store.

   After the video game scene, Amano was stuck with Gohan, who Videl felt sure wouldn't be so easily distracted, much to Amano's dismay. Another hour passed in the huge store before they finally came upon what had to be the world's cutest stuffed rabbit. 

   "You pick it up."

   "Huh, no! You do it! I'm not touching that thing—I feel like I can get cooties just by standing near it. It's called 'cooties by proximity.'" 

   "You two are such—_boys_. Honestly…" Videl snatched up the trinket and stuffed it into a plastic bag, marching out of the store fuming at their immaturity.

   "Oi—Videl, wait! The video game! You said we could get it! _Videl_!"

* * *

   Due to the amount of time spent at the ruins of the toy store—and the time spent dragging Amano kicking and screaming from it—the trio did not get within sight of the furniture shop until nearly sundown. Amano was still sulking about having to leave behind the console, with Videl quickly slapping him across the back of the head, urging him to get over it, when all attentions snapped to the source of a distant crashing sound, eyes wide.

   The furniture shop. Once again, black smoke was billowing out from the top, yet not as thick or dark as before, and broken concrete dotted the road in front of the entryway, sending clouds of choking dust rising into the air.

   "Great, not Niko again!" Videl moaned, setting off at a sprint, Amano quickly snapping out of his funk to follow suit. Only Gohan remained behind, eyes narrowed in anger and confusion.

   That smoke wasn't caused by any normal fire…and even Niko the Human Tornado couldn't have caused an explosion that would break apart concrete to the size of the chunks which now littered the street.

   No…no, it _couldn't_ be… surely they couldn't have come… and yet—oh, what if they _had_?! Gohan blasted forward with speed no human alive could follow, nearly reaching the building before Videl and Amano. However, all three stopped dead in their tracks to view to carnage before them with wide fearful eyes.

   "Th—the _androids_!?" was Videl's frantic yell. "But—_how_?! _Why_?! They can't be here—they _can't_!" Her mouth hung open in shock, unable to move, but Amano didn't seem to be affected in the same way, for he lunged forward, a look of rage etched across a face too young to have to bear it.

   He would have plunged into the fray immediately upon seeing the monstrous cyborgs hovering fifty feet in the air, one blasting those that ran out, the other taking potshots from inside via the half of the building blown off—but he was yanked backwards by a hand fiercely gripping his collar, sending him toppling to the ground on his backside. He turned a furious gaze to the one who'd stopped him and gaped.

   "Go—Gohan?" Indeed, the young demi-Saiyan seemed to be channeling even more anger than Amano, eyes narrowed to tiny slits, wind whipping his cropped hair wildly. At her friend's outburst Videl turned to look as well, adopting the same expression as him. The young warrior stepped forward slowly, one foot at a time, in rhythm to the blasts and screams of the children. 

   Though lives were being lost with each ticking second, though their charges called out to them in pained voices as the life seeped out of their small bodies, neither Videl nor Amano could find the strength or will to move: they could only watch Gohan go forward. "Wh—what are you doing?" Videl called out to him, voice trembling. "Gohan?"

   He halted and slowly turned to face his two friends, uttering in a low rage-laden voice, "Do not follow me unless you wish to die…" He redirected his gaze upon 18, who hovered, smiling at an unconscious Yuna fifty feet below, raising a hand glowing with energy. Unflinchingly he walked forward.

   Videl was immediately released from her trance-like state when he spoke to her, and could look on in horror no longer. She lunged at Gohan as he turned away and leapt into the air, hand barely brushing his gi leggings, gripping on for dear life when he rose into the air.

   "Go—Gohan…you can _fly_?!" He turned that gaze upon _her_ now, and her heartbeat quickened in fear, sweat pouring down her face. She shook her head to clear the thought away, then cried, "Gohan—don't! Don't go—you'll die! They're _all_ dying!"

   "Let go of me, Videl. Let go of me now." When she did not immediately do so, he flared his ki with an angry _kiai_—making the sudden jump to Super Saiyan form, his normally coal-black hair assuming the same color as the distant setting sun—and Videl lost her grip on his leg, crashing to the ground ten feet below. Amano rushed in to help her, steadying her as she tried to rise again. They could only look on helplessly now as Gohan went to work.

* * *

   All they would remember later was seeing Gohan blast off in a burst of light—straight for the androids—and then them taking cover in the alleyway to escape the intense heat and light of whatever battle he was engaged in with the cyborgs. Moments later when they emerged, all was quiet and still: no Gohan, no androids, no lights—no _life_. 

   Videl and Amano hesitantly stepped out from their cover to survey the damage: so much in such a _short_ amount of time…it was mind-boggling. Their store was half gone, open to the air now, with everything inside charred a sick black color and the smell of burnt flesh hanging heavy in the air. They picked their way through the rubble, every now and then coming upon a small body crumbling to dust. They heaved away chunks of concrete with great effort, and under one they rejoiced to find Nole, cowering with Sari, nursing a broken leg. Immediately they moved the twin to a more comfortable location—though this was hard to find as all their amenities had just been destroyed—and Amano continued the search while Videl helped calm down their two patients. 

   When all the rubble and refuse had been sifted through, all but three of the children had been accounted for. Their identities, however, were unknown and would stay that way, as a few of the bodies were still unrecognizable, so the list of dead was incomplete. All in all though, only Nole, Sari, and three other small children from Sari's gang had survived.

   Gohan returned just as the moon was rising to find the weary group of seven crouched around a small flickering flame Videl was still trying to get to grow. Across from her lay Nole, eyes red and swollen from crying, clutching Sari to his chest as if he were still trying to protect her from 18's deadly blasts. Yuna's bunny was still in its bag, discarded in the fight, destined to now be forgotten, never to be cuddled.

   The rough crunch of gravel sent Videl's gaze jerking back to meet him, and she quickly stood, as if awaiting a report of how his mission had gone.

   "I lost them over the mountains. They won't be able to track me down again for a while…"

   _again_…_for a while_…_it's all so temporary_… 

   "That's…good…" was her weak reply, and she turned back to sit before the flame, giving a sniff to keep her own tears from falling. Gohan took a seat beside her and leaned nearer to the fire, tossing in a bit of fuel. "Gohan…" she changed the subject, "Stop, you're just gonna kill it that way—it's too much fuel…" 

   He shook his head and held her back, placing a palm over the pile of newspapers smothering the tiny flicker of flame. Eyes resting on the fire, he pushed a bit of ki into the palm of his hand, heating the paper when it pooled into a small ball of energy, thus igniting the fuel. "Easier this way…" he spoke softly, and pulled his hand back.

   Her eyes were no longer properly focusing to be fascinated to any extent by the feat, and she just let her mind wander. Yuna, Niko…all her little children, her family…all dead… 

   "I'm sorry for this…" came Gohan's quiet voice again, pulling her thoughts back to focus on this plane. "So sorry…"

   Videl, who had slid down to lie on the ground heaved herself back up into a sitting position, eyeing him worriedly. "…Sorry for what?"

   He extended a hand to the destruction, encompassing their group, the city, their home. "For this, for everything, for…for bringing this to you…"

   Her eyebrows furrowed. "Gohan—what are you talking about? You tried your best…did more than any of _us_ could have done for sure… You have nothing to be sorry for."

   "Oh, but I _do_, Videl…" He turned weary eyes on her, smiling sadly, "because you don't understand—they came because of _me_…to hurt _me_, to kill _me_." He shook his head, obviously disappointed in himself, then turned away and lay down on the blackened concrete, ignoring the prickling pains of tiny shards of debris digging into his exposed flesh. "…I'm sorry…"

   She gave no reply to the heart-breaking confession—how could he blame himself for this, _how_?—but his apologies did not stop when his mouth did. In his head he continued to tell everyone how sorry he was. 

   _Yuna_…_you didn't get your bunny today_…_you were six today, Yuna_…_Happy Birthday_

   _Niko_…_you can go on adventures now_…_ you can go on great adventures with my dad_…

   _Nole_…_I failed you—you were like me, you only wanted to live in peace with those you cared for_…_forgive me, little brother_…__

   _Sari_…_you shouldn't have to grow up like this_…_I wanted to make it different for you_…

   Over and over and over he spoke to them from his mind, he was sorry—so very sorry. It shouldn't have happened to them—it should have happened to _him_! Everywhere he went, everyone he met, this happened to them. He _always_ brought death and destruction to those he cared for, it followed him around like a faithful dog.

   He would have it no more. He awoke in the middle of the night, the fire long dead, and stood in place, surveying the tentative peace of those slumbering around him. They would awake to a whole new world, one he awoke to every morning since this all started: one where he was all alone.

   They shouldn't have to face that kind of dawn. None of them…Videl, Amano, Sari, Nole… He would not endanger them again.

   Silent as death, he took to the air and did not look back this time.

* * *

_Post-Chapter Notes_: Ooh, I'm actually pretty pleased with this one, even if it took up a lot of room. I managed to get a bit of humor wrestled in with the angst. And man, Videl: in the story for one chapter so far, and out by the end of that same chapter. But just to let everyone know, this is pretty much the end of the "pre-story" section of the fic, meaning the real plot will be underway soon (yes, that's right, this has all been fluff so far). With that said, I now direct your attentions to the little review button down there. Clicky click!—_sage_


	3. Where Do We Go From Here?

_Author's Notes_: Alrighty, here's the beginning of what I like to call "the real story." Completed and uploaded in record frequency for me—not that long after uploading the last chapter for _It's__ a Start_…which, of course, I'm working on at a leisurely pace. Anyway, enough rambling, here's what you came for.

* * *

_Chapter Three: Where Do We Go From Here?_

   He was nervous. Yes, just a bit nervous, he would admit—not that that was the primary emotion he was experiencing at this time, oh no. He was nervous, but layered thick on top of that was…

   Excitement, fear, elation, depression, nostalgia, so many conflicting emotions and feelings, all struggling to be expressed—it was turning out to be too much for the young demi-Saiyan!

   Except he wasn't really that young anymore. Physically he held the appearance of a fit and healthy nineteen-year-old boy, handsome to the eye, well-groomed, well-mannered—_physically_. On the inside was a completely different story. Inside he housed memories of battle scenes stretching for miles in all directions, the landscape charred black with the sky a cold steely gray swirling above him, pouring rain down in torrents. He could hear pitiful screams of those damned to a premature death, those he loved and cared for, could _smell_ smoke twisting into the sky from a fresh crater formed by a ki blast, could still remember the strain of pouring his energy, his life force into an impossibly large blast, muscles tearing under the force, hoping against hope that it might make some difference, sweat pouring down his temples, hair flying into his eyes. It was all there, on the inside. Invisible to any onlooker.

   "Wake up, Trunks dear. Wake up, Trunks dear. Wake up, Trunks dear," his mother's familiar voice chanted the mantra she'd recorded into the flight deck, replacing the cold monotone computer voice it had previously played. It continued to babble over and over for another ten seconds before Trunks Briefs shook off the cobwebs of hyper-sleep and managed to shut off the annoying racket. 

   He was finally home. He didn't even need to lean forward to peer out the tiny cockpit window of the space pod he was blasting along in—he knew it was _there_. Big, round, filling his visual span, a sea of blue with white swirling over it like paint spattered carelessly over an aqua canvas. But what he couldn't see below all that white was all the _black_. The black that represented cities and towns destroyed by android ki blasts, that represented families torn apart, friends and loved ones killed, lives forever changed. All the red couldn't be seen from space either, representing the blood needlessly spilled for the amusement of a pair of machines, nor could he see the green, representing the all-too-few pocket communities left alive, waiting their turn at the proverbial chopping block. 

   He also couldn't see the shocked faces of millions of people, who suddenly "awoke" to find themselves _alive_. Alive again! Alive, thanks to the Dragonballs on Neo Namek and some swift talking by Trunks himself. It had taken a while to convince the aliens that his intentions were truly pure—he only wished to restore the lives lost in the android terror of his homeland. It was only after a slip of the tongue inserted Piccolo's and Goku's names into the conversation that they agreed to allow the Saiyan youth the use of the magical balls. And that was it: a mere few words later and it was almost as if the cyborgs had never set foot on the Earth at all.

   Almost.

   He had reconsidered his decision to restore the Earth itself to normal at the last moment. No, humanity needed some way to remember what had happened, an ever lasting mark that they might forever recall the price of their technology and how revenge brought one twisted mind to bring to life two horribly vicious creatures. They had all died, but they had all been given a second chance as well. The destruction around them would remain, and they would rebuild eventually. 

   Trunks made his wish to revive the percentage of the population that _could_ be revived—that is, those who had not perished by the deadly heart virus—and had left the Namekians with their remaining two wishes, urging them to do with them as they chose, thanking them profusely. 

   Yes, he was coming home to a new world: one free from androids, free from deadly viruses that wiped out nearly a third of the planet's population, free from pain—for the time being. He would fight to keep it that way, and die for it if need be, but he would not be alone this time. Lips curling into a small smile, he cast a glance at the small clock counting down the time until he landed safely back on the Capsule Corp grounds with his mother. And with Gohan—his old mentor and friend, finally back after more than four years! Back, alive and well: he was _more_ than ready to see him again, he had so much to tell him! 

   But he'd return to his father as well. Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans, back alive. His _father_… whom he'd met only a couple of times before—in a whole different timeline. He'd never met his _real_ father, if the other could be considered a fake. _His_ father had died valiantly, fighting to save his world from the androids—at least, that's what his mother told him, eyes growing misty at the memory. He doubted very much this was the whole untainted truth. From meeting the other Vegeta, he would be more likely to believe his father had merely viewed the cyborg attack as a new challenge and had greeted it enthusiastically, eager for a decent fight, underestimating them as he was wont to do. Well, he'd certainly gotten one. And who was _she_ to lament the Saiyan prince's death? She'd never even spent any decent length of time with him—she hardly knew the man! 

   Alright, so maybe he was a little ticked at Vegeta for leaving them alone… at least the Trunks in the other timeline would be little more fortunate than him, as the Saiyan prince had grudgingly promised not to leave _that_ boy without a father. But it still left him with the problem of facing his own father for the first time: how would he react? Would he be proud of his son, pleased that it was his own offspring that had avenged his untimely death? Or would he be angry, furious that a mere _boy_ had shown him up in power, easily defeating the monsters that had just as easily defeated _him_? More likely the latter, Trunks thought dejectedly. Ah well, the only course left was to simply let time roll on as it had been for the past twenty years, as it had for all the years before that.

   No more time travel, no more meddling in temporal affairs, no _more_. It was time to let the Earth fend for itself after twenty years under the heel of the androids, living in fear. It was time to wake up, to start a new life, to start _over_.

   _Wake up, Trunks dear_

* * *

   "Come on, Trunks…come _on_…" Bulma Briefs muttered under her breath, gripping the hem of her long skirt nervously, wiping the sweat from her palms onto it. "It's time…he was supposed to be ba—_THERE HE IS_!" Her voice rose into an excited yell, echoing for miles all around to where even her son high in the sky might have been able to hear it. Her worried face broke into a wide, relieved grin, and tears of joy began to form in the corners of her eyes. She gave a short sob and waved her arms wildly as the light-gray space pod descended lower and lower, growing in size and slowing as it neared the front lawn of Capsule Corp. headquarters. 

   Violent wind gusts swirled around the mother, pulling her hair from the loose ponytail it had been pulled back in, but she didn't care in the least. Slowly, slowly the craft settled gently on the swaying green grass, sending small dust clouds and blades of grass into the air as the engine died down. The metal legs she'd specially attached hissed as they extended from the main body and settled on the ground, followed by the welcome sound of the main hatch creaking open, the form of a young man barely visible through the haze.

   "…Hey Mom, how's it going?"

   "_TRUNKS_!" she cried out, tears spilling over as she wrapped her only son in a great bear hug, shaking him violently. "Trunks, oh _Trunks_…Don't you _ever_ leave me again!"

   The demi-Saiyan blushed lightly at the display of motherly affection, hand instinctively stretching behind his head—a habit he'd picked up from the Sons in the other timeline. "Geez, don't cry Mom…I'm back now, for good!" He gingerly patted her back, whispering soothing words to her, and she soon quieted down, apparently a bit embarrassed at the outburst, and wiped her eyes profusely.

   "I—I'm sorry about that, dear. It's just… I finally realized that it's _over_. It's finally over, and you're _safe_…You're back home again." She pulled away, wiping her hands again on her skirt with a final sniff, and looked deep into her son's calm blue eyes, meeting an equal expression of relief that life was soon to return to a state of normalcy unheard of for twenty long years. She smiled widely at him, "Someone's been waiting for you, Trunks…"

   He blinked, a bit confused and wondering just who his mother had hidden away, until he peered over her shoulder at a figure leaning against the far wall beside the main entry door. "Gohan!" he shouted with child-like glee, reverting to the mindset of the fourteen-year-old child he'd been when his sensei died—the mindset that had died along with Gohan. Bulma easily sidestepped him as he shot forward into the welcome arms of his master, wrapping him in a warm hug. "You're back—you're _back_!" The elder demi-Saiyan chuckled and returned the hug, himself a bit shocked at how much his student had grown since he'd last seen him. The boy he'd unwillingly left behind was no longer a boy, a full five years older physically with the weight of battles lost and won resting on his sturdy shoulders. 

   "Yes, I'm back Trunks—thanks to _you_." His student pulled away, eyes beaming with joy.

   "I did it, Gohan, I finally _beat_ them! And it was…" He faltered a moment, eyes losing some of their brightness as if confronting a sorrowful memory from years past, "It was all thanks to you…" At his master's confused stare, he gave a pithy explanation. "You helped me, even after you died—_because_ you died. It pushed me to become a Super Saiyan and I couldn't have…I could never have done it without you, Gohan…"

   He smiled warmly. "Hey, forget it, kid. You can tell me all about what's been going on later. Your mom here tells me there's still someone else you should meet…"

   At this statement Bulma sprang back to life, "Ah—yeah! Inside, Trunks!" She and Gohan corralled her son, ushering him into the looming building excitedly. He had a sinking feeling he knew whom he was being hurried on to meet, and his suspicions were confirmed upon reaching the living room area. There, seated on the couch, a bored expression painted upon his features, was the Prince of Saiyans, appearing not at all pleased to be alive once more.

   "Vegeta!" his mother barked, and Trunks had a sudden feeling of déjà vu from the alternate timeline. The Saiyan's dark brooding eyes snapped to the doorway the trio were standing in, face maintaining its bored expression. Trunks drew in breath audibly in a small gasp as he surveyed the man he'd grown so close to in another time—but this one knew nothing of such a filial bond. "Well?" his mother prodded the couch-sitter, "Aren't you going to say hi to your _son?"_

   There was the slightest twitch of an eyebrow as Vegeta's eyes took on a vaguely surprised size. A tiny sound like someone had just punched him sharply in the stomach issued forth from his pursed lips, and he suddenly found it difficult to draw breath. _Son_?! Sure, he remembered well that night nearly twenty years ago when pride had been set aside for a moment of passion—he remembered it only _too_ well. He even vaguely remembered the existence of a tiny bundle of clothes the woman carried around for a few months before he died—was this the result of that night? A child? Cold calculating eyes ran over Trunks' tall slender frame, and he felt a bit uneasy, like one of his grandfather's animal experiments under a microscope for observation.

   Yes, Vegeta could faintly see himself in the boy… "This is Trunks, Vegeta. You can thank him for defeating the androids and wishing you all back with the Namek Dragonballs," the woman's sharp high-pitched voice grated on his ears, interrupting his thoughts. He could no longer maintain the blasé expression he worked so hard to keep up, and the mighty Saiyan prince's royal mouth hung open like a frog's. 

   "Y-_you_?! A mere _boy_ did what two Saiyans, three humans, and a Namek couldn't do!?" His voice rose, tone making it evident he found the idea quite ludicrous, and somewhere inside Trunks' pride stung a bit at the comment. 

   He frowned at the exclamation, but stepped toward his father anyway, pasting on a smirk as he approached. Well, while he was at it, may as well go ahead and try and get on the old man's good side—wait, did Vegeta _have_ a good side? "Well, I _am_ your son…" The elder Saiyan's mouth snapped shut immediately, yet he didn't smile or acknowledge the statement in anyway, merely crossing his arms in their typical position and giving out his usual, "Hmph" of acceptance. 

   "True as that may be, I still find it difficult to believe, _boy_."

   Trunks was about to reply, when Gohan stepped nearer, speaking up now. "I don't see why, Vegeta. If I remember correctly, you got taken out in one hit by 18." Vegeta's dark eyes narrowed threateningly. "While Trunks here managed to actually give her a hard time a few years ago in one battle—and that was before he even ascended to Super Saiyan status."

   Eyes widening again, he choked out, "You mean to say—the _boy_ has—"

   "The _boy_ has a name, Vegeta," Bulma interjected angrily, and the Saiyan shot her a filthy look before returning his eyes to Gohan.

   "The _boy_ is a Super Saiyan?!" He ignored the remark and continued the interrogation. "But how—"

   "_Gohan_ taught me, _Father_. He trained me—after _he_ ascended. He was my sensei up until his death four years ago…" Vegeta turned a disbelieving eye from his son to Gohan, who nodded, confirming Trunks revelation. Impossible—was _everyone_ a Super Saiyan now? Where had the honor of achievement gone, that now even a child could attain it?

   The elder demi-Saiyan turned to his student now, leaving Vegeta to his own thoughts, and queried, "But, Trunks—even _I_ as a Super Saiyan couldn't handle _one_ of the androids, much less beat them both. How did you do it?"

   It was evident a long story was about to ensue, and Bulma quickly interrupted before her son could respond to his master's question, "Hold it, guys—let's put off this conversation 'til after lunch at least. It's gonna be a long one…" She marched past the group of Saiyans, beckoning them into the kitchen, and Gohan turned back to Trunks.

   "Is it really that long of a story?"

   He smiled, "Oh yeah, it's _that_ long…"

* * *

   "A _time machine_?!" Gohan gaped across the table at Trunks, nearly spitting out his lunch, then turned his gaze up to the boy's mother. "Really Bulma?" She nodded pleasantly, giggling. "Wow… so you're telling me there's a whole other world now, with all of us in it, in another dimension?"

   Trunks shook his head, confirming the belief. "Yep, and the best part is _none_ of this happened over there. Sure, the androids came, and sure, Goku got sick—but none of that mattered there! When I came to warn us all ahead of time, I gave your dad an antidote to the virus: an antidote which didn't exist when he died _here_, but one I brought back just for him."

   "So…my dad…didn't _die_?" The surprise and shock was so clear it could almost be _seen_. "He's…_alive_ there?"

   Trunks' face fell at this statement, and he turned away, expression serious. "He…he didn't die from the virus, but… but he _did_ die later on."

   "So, they got him? The androids?" He'd had a sinking feeling ever since he'd entered his first battle with the machines that even if his father _had_ been alive, it wouldn't have made any difference in the outcome—it would've just been another death he'd have had to deal with. But Trunks shook his head.

   "No, actually—he probably could've defeated the androids pretty easily! Except, the ones that arrived _there_ were a little different than the ones here. Instead of two, _five _were sent to kill him—six if you count Cell."

   "S-_six_?! Six androids?! And _Cell_—who's that?" Trunks' story of the past four years was turning out to be like some complex movie, with plots twists every time you turned around. Vegeta merely listened with his back to the duo, gaze focused on his meal which—he grudgingly admitted—it seemed the woman had learned to cook since he'd last spent any time with her.

   "Two of them were 17 and 18—the very same ones we had here. Another, 16, actually didn't seem so bad—like he didn't want to follow his programming, didn't want to fight or anything like that. Two others, 19 and 20, I'd never seen before—they were energy sucking androids, gained power from other living beings…" He trailed off as he recalled the various battles with the different androids of the other line.

   "And the last? You said his name was Cell?" 

   Trunks' face hardened. "Cell… Cell was the most powerful of them all—he was the reason Goku died in the other line. When I left this timeline, I went back twenty years—three years before the androids _we_ fought were set to arrive. This gave all the others plenty of time to train and prepare. But the first androids to come were 19 and 20—ones I'd never encountered before. Time was already changing due to my going back. This was right around when Goku got sick, but he took the antidote I gave him and recovered, and the two androids were beaten pretty easily. It seemed things were on the upswing… until 16, 17 and 18 appeared."

   "Just like here…" Gohan noted grimly, and Trunks nodded.

   "As if they weren't a big enough problem—Gero had _another_ android waiting in the alternate timeline: Cell. He was…_different_ though. He _ate_ other androids."

   "_Ate_ them?"

   "Ate them—well, absorbed energy is more like it. He used energy from other living beings like 19 and 20 did: it gave him the ability to achieve greater and greater levels of power, far beyond either 17 or 18…eventually far beyond _your_ father, my father… beyond any of us…"

   Gohan leaned forward, enraptured in the tale, lunch long forgotten. Even Vegeta had turned around a bit in order to hear better. "So… how did you beat him? You're alive and well, so I'm assuming you beat him somehow." The thought that his student had been forced to face an enemy more powerful than the androids, without him there, sent a funny feeling of discomfort into his stomach. The things he'd _missed_…

   "Well, Father, me, Goku, and—actually—_you_ trained for a year in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber to fight Cell. He set a time limit after which all Earth's warriors would meet him in a Budokai-style fighting ring, complete with Budokai rules, where we would fight him."

   "…_Me_? My dad trained…with _me_?"

   Trunks smiled at his master's speechless expression. "Actually, a much younger version of you—I believe he was only eleven or so. Father and I trained for one day, after which you and Goku trained for another day. You went into that room with the same power level you had back when Goku died in this line. You came out a Super Saiyan."

   "At _eleven_?!" Vegeta exclaimed, springing to his feet, speaking now for the first time in over an hour. "A Super Saiyan at _eleven_?!" Trunks merely smirked, shooting a glance to his father, and nodded.

   "At the tournament Goku was naturally the first to fight—and it was assumed by all of us he would be the only one needed, that he'd be the one to defeat Cell." He lowered his head. "We were wrong… Goku fought furiously against him, they even got rid of the Budokai ring and did away with the rules, but it seemed none of it mattered. He actually _forfeited_."

   "M-my dad…_gave up_?!" Vegeta took his seat again and smirked inwardly, pleased at the choked tone in the elder demi-Saiyan's voice. _'Guess your goody-goody father wasn't all he was cracked up to be, eh brat?'_

   "I know, I know—that's what we all said when he did it, until he calmed us all down by saying that someone more powerful would take his place before Cell. Then he said that someone…" He turned his face to Gohan, "was _you_."

* * *

   "So…that's how it went," Trunks finished quietly. Gohan's elation at learning of the existence of an alternate timeline where his father had survived the deadly sickness that had taken his life here was gone, crushed by the rest of Trunks' testimony. It was _his_ fault… because of him, his father was gone…_again_. Even if it hadn't specifically been he that had led his father to doom… his stomach gave another revolting turn and his eyes watered threateningly. "I'm sorry, sensei…"

   "_Kakarrot_… he always ends up doing something like that, doesn't he?" Vegeta spoke up softly, startling the two young demi-Saiyans whose gazes snapped to their elder. "Makes some noble sacrifice every time he dies, endearing even more saps to him. Even when he can't win, he always seems to come out on top…the _fool_." What right did he have to go and get himself killed, did he think of no one else, other than himself?

   "Goku died to save the Earth, Father," Trunks replied sharply, once again reminded of his father's one-track mind. "I couldn't think of a more noble sacrifice than that."

   "But from what you've said, child, if he hadn't done that not only would the Earth have been destroyed, his spawn would never have released all that hidden power he's kept locked away." He slid his gaze over to Gohan. "It leaves one wondering if _this_ whelp has the same power…"

   "More than _you_, Vegeta…" Gohan countered easily, eyes no longer watering, rage boiling at the Saiyan prince's insinuations about his father. 

   "More than any of us…" Trunks added. "More than me, more than Father, more than Goku, more than Cell. It's kinda funny… I came back to save you all—and it wound up being _you_ who saved _me_…"

   It was clear none of them really found it funny in the least. "So, after the other me beat Cell, you came back here?"

   "Yeah—by that time, after all the training with Father for Cell, the 17 and 18 of this line were child's play for me to defeat, it was pathetic. The thing was, another version of Cell followed me here as well… luckily enough he was only in the earliest stages of his development, even less powerful than the androids. After that, well, I set off for Namek—and here we are back at the present!" His ending statements came off with forced cheerfulness, as the present left much to be desired. Absently Trunks drew pictures in what was left of his now-cold rice with a chopstick, head propped up with one hand.

   Gohan leaned back in his chair and let out a loud sigh. "So… that line's safe, this line's safe… what next? Rebuilding?"

   Trunks nodded, eyes still resting on his rice-picture. "That's what's going to be first on everyone's minds for the next few months: getting everything up and running again. The humans haven't dealt with normal everyday life for nearly twenty years now, and most of them have just been wished back. The heart virus is still out there, but Capsule Corp. is distributing an antidote through its different branches and affiliates… it's already taken its toll though. Those the androids _didn't_ get, the virus _did_. And _they_ couldn't be wished back."

   "Just like Dad…"

   "Yeah," he began to reply dully, "and your m—" Trunks' head shot up to attention, and he barely managed to stop the next word from rolling off his tongue, though not quickly enough to keep his master from turning to stare at him quizzically. 

   "Did you say something, Trunks?" The retort had been soft enough that Gohan hadn't grasped the exact words, but merely registered that he'd said _something_. The boy shook his head wildly, and he shrugged it off, standing in place. "Well, I think I've dawdled here long enough—I'm gonna head on home and say hi to my mom, figure she'd probably like to know I'm alive." He smiled brightly at the group, "I'll see you tomorrow, alright Trunks?" With that, he headed towards the door.

   The younger demi-Saiyan made as if to call him back, hand outstretched to stop his master, but abandoned this course of action before it was even halfway started, and Gohan was gone, bound for his home nestled deep in the mountains hundreds of miles from Capsule Corp. Trunks' hand fell limp to his side again, and he suddenly felt sicker than he'd felt in quite some time.

   "Why didn't you tell him?" Vegeta's cold voice sliced the solitude after a moment, and Trunks' head whipped around to face his father, brows creasing in alarm.

   "But—how did you—?"

   Vegeta waved him off, eyes closing in mirth, "Please, child, you read like an open book. That brat's mother is no longer alive, is she?" Trunks made no reply, but he took this as affirmation. "No, she died of the virus, didn't she? Not too long ago then?" His son frowned at this and turned away, his head resting in his palms as he massaged his temples wearily. Vegeta opened one eye lazily, gauging the boy's reaction. "He'll be quite angry with you for not telling him you know…"

   "I know…"

   Well, now he was curious. "Then…why? Why keep it from him?" 

   "Because…" came a soft female voice from the doorway, and the men turned to view Bulma. "Because, I asked him not to…"

* * *

   Son Gohan was practically _singing_ as he zipped through the air towards a long forgotten cottage. Though his mother was quite the neat freak, he didn't doubt that all the years without proper "play" to keep the lawn in check would've caused all manner of plants and vines to spring up around the small house. As a child—a very young child, mind you, something he hadn't been in a long time—it had been one of his main chores as well as joys around the house to keep the lawn free of weeds and vines for a radius of, "At least fifty feet, mister, or no dessert!" He smiled inwardly at the memory, then paled a bit.

   Wow, if his mother had been that strict with regards to lawn care, how mad would she be at him now? After that final scene at the cottage a few years before his death…_very_. He'd not reneged his promise that he would visit—though, he would admit, his visits became less and less frequent as time went on, as well as became shorter with his mounting discomfort at frittering away time with a living person while so many others were dying at the hands of the androids. Yes, it'd been some time since he'd spent any decent length of time with Chichi.

   Time to remedy that.

   His eye caught a barely visible glimpse of a red domed roof, colors nearly faded beyond recognition, situated beside the dried up remains of what used to be a sparkling blue stream. The tree-line masked all these markers surprisingly well, but he knew what to look for and would not be thrown off. Descending rapidly, his feet were on the ground running within seconds. A wide smile spread across his face as he tore through the overgrown foliage, a trail of leaves whipping behind him. "Mom…MOM!" he laughed as he neared, "_MOM_!" 

   The front door was only a few feet away before he skidded to a stop, with the leaves he'd pulled along pelting the house. "_Mom_…" he whispered now. Gingerly he reached a trembling hand to the doorknob, as if fearing it would bite or shock him. Great, he'd faced aliens bent on world domination and androids bent on world _destruction_, yet he couldn't face his own mother after years apart? Well, he tried to argue, she was almost as bad as all of that! Pushing all hesitation aside, he swiftly gripped the knob and turned it, pushing inside with almost no effort: the lock mechanism had rusted off years ago. 

   The interior was dark, lit only by the dying rays of the setting sun in those rooms with windows. This didn't come as any surprise, though—the androids had cut off power to most major cities long ago, which meant little pocket areas of civilization—like the mountain communities—would have lost power well before then. Still, looking around, he would have expected to see at least the remains of burning candles or something…

   After giving the house the once-over, he came to the quick realization that no one was home, nor had been for quite some time. Alright… so maybe she went to live with a friend or something, maybe Bulma—no, Trunks would've said something then. So… where?

   He stepped outside once more, attentions turning now to the dried up stream bed. It had once been teeming with fish, a small tributary of a nearby roaring mountain cataract, and numerous had been the times he'd fished in it—both with his father and alone. He ran a finger gently over the cracked sandy bottom and smiled wistfully. Lifting his eyes to take in the opposite bank, his brow creased in puzzlement when he caught sight of something that hadn't been there before: a small stone marker.

   He nimbly leapt the ten feet to the other side and peered down at the rock, one face smoothed over and inlaid with a tiny brass plaque. Bending low and sinking to one knee, he read the inscription:

_Here lies Son Chichi, devoted wife, loving mother, cherished friend  
May she finally find peace, and may other remember her legacy _

(erected in memoriam, by Bulma Briefs)

   Gohan's breath caught in his throat, stinging sharply like he'd just swallowed something that wouldn't quite fit down. He swallowed again, yet the sensation remained. Son Chichi…_dead_…_dead_…_dead_…

   No, no…no, it must be a mistake—his mother wasn't dead, _couldn't_ be dead. Not when she… He read the plaque again. And again. And again. He could repeat in his head now. _Here lies Son Chichi, devoted wife, loving mo—_

   Loving mother. _His_ mother… his beautiful, strong mother, who loved her little boy so very much. The mother who cried, the mother he _made_ cry… he left, and she cried because of it. She died because of it—because he _left_. He _abandoned_ her. Because he wasn't here, because he _had_ to save all the others, she died. 

   She cried, then she died… If he'd been here—

   _May she finally find peace, and may others remember her legacy_

   But—_why_?! _Why_ hadn't she been revived?! _Why_ was this marker still here, nearly overgrown with weeds and grass? _Why_—

   The virus. Of course that was why. She'd died of natural causes—however natural a nearly unstoppable heart virus could be considered. And couldn't be revived, just as nearly half the rest of the planet's population couldn't be revived… He crumpled to the ground ungracefully, head resting on the soft grass inches from the stone. So near… six feet, six mere feet. A single tear dripped into the soil and soaked into the ground.

   _erected__ in memoriam, by Bulma Briefs_

   They knew. They _knew_, and they hadn't told him. He'd said he was going home, and none of them—not Trunks, not Vegeta, not _Bulma_—had tried to stop him. Hadn't even casually mentioned, "Oh, by the way Gohan, your mom's dead. Been that way for a while now." They'd all just sat back and watched him fly away, searching in vain for what was left of the life he used to hold dear: his mommy. 

   …_why?_

   …_why did you let me hope? How cruel could you be to let me even hope? How heartless, to let me think for even one moment that life might be like it used to be_…_I would rather die than vainly hope, so why?_

* * *

   "…Gohan…" Bulma tried to calm him, but it failed, and he merely stood in the doorway, shaking with rage, face reddening, eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears from leaking out.

   She knew he'd be back, as soon as he'd left—she knew. For she knew what he would find when he tried to return home, or rather, she knew what he _wouldn't_ find. 

   He wouldn't find his mother, he wouldn't find his home as he'd left it all those years ago, he wouldn't find anything to remind him of the life he'd left behind—the life of peace. His mother had died, his home was in disarray and decaying, his life…well, he would have to start a new one of those. They were all having to start over, for none of them could go back to the way things were. That's what life was really all about anyway: getting over the past and moving on towards a new future. This was their world now, and nothing could change it, so better to accept what it was and move on than to wallow in self-pity and ancient memory.

   Great, she'd convinced herself of that. Now to convince Gohan…

   "…_Why_…?" A single questioning word, packing emotion to the bursting point, hurled at the scientist more harshly with a whisper than if he had shouted the query at her. She actually _wished_ he'd yell: certainly keeping all this rage in wasn't healthy for him, and she knew he had to be experiencing quite the bit of anger and frustration right now.

   "I…I just couldn't do it…I couldn't tell you she was gone…not when you'd just heard Trunks' story…"

   "Oh, so _that_ was it, was it?" he spat, voice turning icy cold, but body shaking less. "'He just found out he killed his father, better not tell him he killed his mom too.' Is that it?"

   A stricken look shot across her face. "Wha—Gohan, no! No, no! I didn't…" She sighed low. "I didn't want you to have to deal with finding out she died right after you'd been wished back…I—I wasn't expecting you to leave right away…We were going to tell you."

   "And yet you let me leave here without trying to stop me or let me know I was going on a wild goose chase, did you? Just sat back and watched, waiting 'til I came back wondering just what the _hell_ happened to her."

   Bulma's eyes fell to the ground, and Gohan could tell they'd filled up with tears. Fine, let her cry, he'd been cried over before, he was used to it—jaded to it by now. She fumbled for words, but all that came out was a squeak now and then, until she finally gave up and shrank away back through a long corridor. His narrowed eyes followed her until she darted around a corner and out of sight.    

   Fisting a hand angrily through his short-cropped hair, he wandered back into the living room, noting the conspicuous absence of both Vegeta and Trunks. Distantly pondering their whereabouts, he deduced that—father/son time being out of the question—Vegeta was off meditating somewhere in the building in an effort to regain his fighting instincts, while Trunks was…well, somewhere else. He plopped ungracefully onto the sofa lining the far wall furthest from the doorway and sank deep into the cushions, staring straight ahead—though focusing on nothing.

   His mother was gone… and she wasn't coming back. It wasn't like with his dad the few times he'd died—when he could be wished back. She got one chance at life, used it, lost it. Now she was dead—but at least she got to be with his dad now, at least she was at peace. Shouldn't he be happy for that, shouldn't he be glad she'd finally be reunited with her beloved Goku, whom she hadn't seen for over ten years?

   He _should_. But that didn't mean he was. Because if she was entitled the right to die and be happy, then he was entitled the right to live and be angry, angry that she'd left and couldn't come back, angry that he hadn't been there with her as she drew her final breath. Selfishly he wondered if perhaps she had died crying for her only son, if maybe his mere presence could've given her the will to survive, to fight the virus longer.

   He was more arrogant than Vegeta, he realized, eyes widening. To think his being by her side would've persuaded her to fight, when it was so much easier to simply…_let go_. The slamming of the front door perked him up a bit, and he looked up at the figure standing in the doorway: a very worried Trunks, with a brown paper bag of groceries in the crook of one arm. Apparently he hadn't expected Gohan back so soon, as he appeared to fumble for words, searching out what was undoubtedly an apology. Gohan simply glared coldly and stood from his spot, brushing past his former student.

   "G-Gohan! Wait!" To his immense surprise, the elder demi-Saiyan halted his escape, one hand posted on the doorframe as if steadying himself. "If…if you need somewhere to stay… you're welcome to stay here…sensei…"

   He turned to face the boy, dark eyes clouded, red and puffy, his usual jovial expression gone from his features. The two stared at each other a moment, neither able to fathom what the next few days might bring, and both knowing it would be easier to face them with friends and family. 

   "I'm…Gohan…I—"

   "Don't say it, Trunks…" he spoke softly, a sad smile edging across his face. "Please, don't apologize…will you?"

   He returned the small gesture of friendship. "Gohan…she wouldn't want you to be alone again, you know? Not when there are so few of us left, and…I don't think I can handle Dad alone…"

   The smile on his teacher's features widened, a bit more sincere now, and he turned back to the living room, eyeing the groceries. "I'll help you put those up."

* * *

_Post Chapter Notes_: Hehee, did you think it was still from Gohan's POV at the beginning? I'll admit, I didn't mean to write it that way, but when I read all the way up until the "wake up call," I actually thought, "Hey…I'm writing Trunks, aren't I?" Even kinda confused myself. Anyway, I did take artistic license and off Chichi because, well, two reasons: 1) It's angstier that way, and 2) It was essential to the storyline. I kinda need him hanging around Capsule Corp…but won't say anymore here! Now that you've read, let me know in reviews!—sage

PS—Aching to see the two most beautiful evil authoresses there are? Well check out to see Psycho Ann and Sage's "Comic-con 2003 Advnture"! Lots of pictures from the San Diego Comic-con as well as fun commentaries by yours truly. Enjoy!


	4. Something About a Meeting in West City

_Author's Notes:_ Alrighty, I'm back. Now, to clear up some confusion about the last chapter. It was obvious to me—then again, I AM the authoress of this monstrosity—that quite a bit of time passed between chapters two and three. I just suddenly skipped ahead thirteen years—sorry for the confusion! Yes, chapter two ended with a fourteen-year-old Gohan leaving Orange Star to fight on his own, and chapter three picks up with a nineteen-year-old Trunks (who should be eighteen, but for the year in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber) and revived Gohan who still appears twenty-three even though he should be twenty-seven because four years have passed since he died. Have I confused you yet? Good. Now read the frickin' chapter.

* * *

_Chapter Four: Something About A Meeting in West City_

   "You want to _what_?!"

   Three pairs of doubtful eyes focused on Son Gohan's decidedly determined face, struggling to discern if he was, in fact, serious in his suggestion. The elder demi-Saiyan gave no audible response, merely returned their gazes in succession.

   "But, Gohan…" Bulma began hesitantly, lowering her eyes to focus on her mug of lukewarm coffee as she drummed perfectly manicured nails against it, "We've never…done anything like this before. What you're suggesting…we can't be sure of any consequences—positive _or_ negative. We're talking about a _lot_ of people…a lot of _huma_—"

   "Krillin's a human—" Gohan interrupted sharply, and she raised her head, the comment she desperately wanted to add evident in her clear blue eyes: _Only a human_. "—but," he saved her the trouble, "he's _one_ human. I think we've underestimated the true inhabitants of this planet for far too long. Too long has it been the duty of the Saiyans—Dad, me, Vegeta, Trunks—to save this planet. They need…a chance."

   "…_Why_, though, Gohan?" Trunks added, questioning his master. "It just doesn't seem like it'd do anything to teach them."

   Gohan was silent a moment, wording his reply carefully. "We've been training nonstop since we were wished back, you know. Day and night, almost no sleep, barely enough food to stay alive, constant sparring between the three of us—"

   "_I_ can certainly vouch for that," Bulma interjected, smirking lightly.

   "—but what good has it done us?" he continued, ignoring the remark as if she hadn't spoken at all. He held his arm out full, clenching and unclenching his fist, "_None_ of us have gotten any stronger than we already were. It's been three months, I mean, Trunks—" he turned to his pupil, "You said yourself that your training in the hyperbolic time chamber happened slowly but surely, that after a couple of months you could already see increases in your own strength, shouldn't _we_ be seeing that same increase as well now?"

   Trunks looked up as he was addressed, but just as quickly lowered his gaze again as he contemplated the question, and reluctantly confirmed his teacher's supposition. "There aren't anymore Saiyans—no more purebloods _or_ half-breeds, unless any of us has something he'd like to say to the rest," Gohan added as an afterthought, a bit of glint in his eye, "We're all that's left—so what if someone stronger than the androids comes along, huh? Trunks won't be able to defeat them alone, and Vegeta and I certainly won't be any help if we stay at the same level we're at now. Trunks told us all about the next level of the Super Saiyan transformation—that the me of the other timeline achieved it in his fight with Cell, but as it stands none of us look to be ascending any time soon…so what now?"

   He pushed away from the table and stood in place, "We go for quantity over quality. We can't get more power as Saiyans, so I say we train humans to fight like us."

   Vegeta shook his head now, eyes closed in mirth at the apparent rashness of the decision. "Stupid boy… you plan to put the power of ki into the hands of such evolutionary plebeians? Are you _completely_ your father's son as to assume that these soldiers you train will blindly follow your every order and not run at their first sight of a superior enemy? Or that they won't turn on you in the end? I've seen enough of these humans to know their loyalties do not run deep."

   "And yours do?" he fired back, anger flaring.

   "Gohan!" Bulma hissed. A fight between Saiyans was _not_ what her house needed right now. She'd been through enough remodeling after android attacks.

   Vegeta did not respond in kind, though, merely lazily opened an eye and gauged the demi-Saiyan. "A Saiyan's loyalties lie as deep as he plants them, boy. I didn't think I needed to remind you of that."

   An awkward pause filled the room, and it was Trunks who tactfully broke it, phrasing his father's question a bit more delicately, "But, Gohan…how _can_ you be sure they won't turn, or misuse their power even if we _do_ get an army of ki-users? That's why we never did anything like this before…"

   "No, the reason we never did anything like this before is because we never _needed_ to do anything like this before. That's why I wanted to get you guys' opinions on it before I went away to campaign."

   "Campaign?" came three simultaneous voices, laden with questioning.

   "I'm going to take a trip…a journey to find the strongest, most potential fighters left on the planet. And…I'll _know_ who's trustworthy and who's not—I'll just know. I've seldom been a bad judge of character before, I certainly won't start slacking in that department now. But we've been holding their hands for so long now…I just think it's only fair. We can't do this alone, but neither can they." He ended his speech and glanced from face to face, some turned towards him, others away thinking. "Will you help me?" he prodded.

   Trunks reclined back in his chair, staring straight ahead at nothing, while Vegeta drummed his gloved fingers over the surface of the hardwood table they were all seated around. Bulma nervously glanced from son to husband, feeling she had no place in the conversation.

   After a moment, Trunks slowly began to nod, "I'll…I'll do it…" He faced his master fully, then joined him in a standing position. "I'll help you train them Gohan." He was greeted with a warm smile. _I know what this means to you_…_ to give others the chance you didn't have: to save those you love most_.

   "Thank you, Trunks." The two now turned to the final member of their potential team, who was all too conscious that they were waiting for him to cave and defiantly holding back.

   "…I just hope you realize, brat, that I don't plan on wasting my time with your little school. If you two want to waste precious time on this fool's errand, then it's your hides, but _I_ plan on making use of this life I've been granted." He turned dark eyes upon them. "As long as I don't have to teach them…"

   "Vegeta," Bulma snorted incredulously, "It'd be a martial arts dojo, what exactly _would_ you be doing there if not teaching?"

   "A just question, woman," he replied simply, "and one best answered when I'm quite drunk." He pushed his chair away from the table, "Now, why don't you be a good little human and show the nice Saiyan where you've been hiding the wine all these years."

   A pause enveloped the quartet as Bulma silently fumed. "…I don't know _why_ we revived you…" And she stomped away, with Vegeta trailing behind smirking merrily.

   When the two had abandoned the dining area for the wine pantry in the building's bowels, Trunks spoke up once more. "…I can see the sign now: 'Capsule Corp. Dojo, Center of Higher Ki Martial Arts Education Since…six months from now.'"

   Gohan's grin broadened. "Glad to have you on board, Trunks-sensei."

   The younger demi-Saiyan clapped him over the shoulder, "Where else would I be, Gohan-sensei?"

* * *

_Five and a half months later_…

   Gohan sighed contentedly, pleased with himself, as he tidied up his less-than-spacious capsule house graciously lent to him by Bulma for his journey—hopefully this would be the final time he'd have to carry out such a mundane task. He shook out the sheets violently, shaking off any dust or dirt that might have accumulated in them through his travels, then fluffed the pillows and placed them neatly upon the bed. Casually he flipped off all the light switches and made sure the stove and fridge were unplugged—a fire in his pants pocket from a surge overload was _not_ what he needed as he made his last stop: this time in Orange Star City.

   He recalled the few history lessons he'd received on the cities of Earth, but Orange Star was probably second in size only to West City. A major metropolitan center before the android attacks, and flourishing once again this year since Trunks had defeated the machines and made his journey to Neo Namek. Once safely positioned outside the dwelling, he punched a panel to the right of the door and watched in amazement as the building shrank to capsule form with a soft _poof_. Leaning forward to pick it up, he swiftly pocketed it and lifted slowly into the air, gauging his surroundings one last time and taking a final look at the map.

   After checking his watch, he judged he could make it to the Orange Star dojo in under a half-hour, then ran his eyes down the list he'd prepared. "Hmm… 'North Golden Fighter Dojo,' eh?" He shrugged and smiled. "The names these people come up with for their schools these days…"

   All in all, he reflected as he sped over the plains and fields below him being readied for the first harvest since the attacks had stopped, his journey had been quite profitable. He'd made stops in every major city across the globe save for Orange Star, and that would soon be rectified. As if they'd had sense scared into them from the attacks, most of the humans seemed to be greatly interested in his offer of training in a new martial arts technique, and he'd passed each of them a file containing all the information they would need until they met up with him again.

   Each file contained airfare and a hotel room for three nights in West City—around the date he'd told them all to arrive. Once they arrived, they would attend the seminar introducing them to ki, explaining all about what had been done to protect the planet, in short—the entire last forty years or so. And he had been careful in choosing those he invited, as he had sworn he would be. Not everyone seemed to meet his qualifications; many appeared more interested in the promised power than the opportunity to save their own planet. These were turned away or given dummy packets—an idea suggested by Vegeta, and frowned upon by Trunks, Bulma, and Gohan. _"If I could see the looks on those fools' faces who read these…"_ Gohan didn't think he really wanted to know what the Saiyan prince had included in them.

   Thus his thoughts passed, and he found himself unconsciously lowering his altitude as he approached nearer and nearer the city limits. Another quick check of the map and he positioned himself directly over the roof of the gym, descending slowly.

   Strange…he hadn't been able to find the name of the gym's owner, but no doubt one of the teachers inside would know how he might get in touch with them. Casting glances from side to side, he noted uncomfortably how few people roamed the streets of the city, even now nearly a year after the androids had been destroyed. Buildings were all in the middle of reconstruction, giant steel skeletons jutting into the sky. It was remarkably easy to find the gym not because of its great height, but because it was the only normal sized building among a forest of giants. He hadn't even needed to try and hide himself to retain any semblance of normalcy—there simply wasn't any need to since the closest person was an elderly man walking a proportionally elderly dog three blocks east.

   He tentatively put a hand on the door handle and pulled outward, greeted by a blast of cool air welcoming him inside from the heat. While the exterior was marred as all the other buildings were by android fire, the interior had obviously been remodeled in recent months and smelled strongly of fresh paint and pine-wood shavings. A bell tinkled lightly above him, but no employee came to greet him, so he wandered aimlessly past the front desk, following the sounds of faint voices crying out attack yells.

   After a moment of searching for the source, Gohan rounded a corner and stopped immediately to take in the rather amusing sight of thirty ten-year-olds assuming an opening fight stance, all facing an athletic young woman near his own age and mimicking her every move. Her black hair had been snapped up into a high pony-tail that bounced lightly when she performed an aggressive roundhouse, a few strands wriggling free from the band with every movement. Her blue eyes flashed in mirth as she barked out general instructions to the children, correcting a few personally in a softer voice. She would slide around behind each one in succession, righting those that needed it before moving on to the next, smiling all the while and obviously enjoying herself immensely, so comfortable did she seem. 

   Gohan leaned to the side against the wall and watched the entire scene unfold for a half hour, until the woman once again assumed her position before the group and bowed low, signaling for them to do the same. The children all clamored to bid her goodbye for the evening, and she kindly gave them all smiles and told them she'd see them all at the same time the next week. While the kids gathered up their belongings to await their parents, the woman who'd led the class turned her back on the group and began piling shirts and gis into a blue duffel bag at her feet, tossing in a sock as well now and then. So engrossed was she in the task that she didn't even notice Gohan stepping up onto the platform, and jumped in surprise as he cleared his throat loudly to get her attention.

    "Oh!" she cried, startled, and her hand flew to her chest, then laughed off the surprise. "Oh—jeez, I'm sorry. You just—scared me."

   He was penitent, "Ah, sorry about that…I couldn't think of another way to get your attention while your class was going on. They all your students?"

   She nodded lightly and watched the last few file out, "Yep, every last one of 'em. Quite a handful some days, but I wouldn't trade anything in the world for this job." She returned her gaze to his, "Oh, I'm sorry—did you…need to speak with me?"

    "Actually," he confessed, slightly put off that he'd have to end their conversation, though making a mental note to speak with her after his meeting with the owner, "I was hoping to speak with the dojo's master."

    "Well," she smiled and held her hand out to shake his, "you're in luck—you've found her." He gripped it firmly and returned her smile—this was working out great! "So, what can I do for you? You here about lessons or something like that?"

    "Ah…something like that, I guess you could say…" He withdrew one of the manila packets from his vest and handed it to her, which she tentatively took, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity. "I'm actually here to invite you to…something like a seminar, being held in two weeks at Capsule Corporation in West City."

   She looked a bit incredulous to say the least. "…A _seminar_? What kind of seminar are we talking about, because I _really_ don't do that whole 'shirt and tie, sit down, stuck up' kind of thing. I'm a martial artist, not a businessman. And West City? That's not exactly a hop, skip, and a jump away from Oran—"

    "You'll find, if you check the packet," he gestured towards the envelope, "that your airfare and hotel accommodations have already been provided. I assure you it's completely free, all you'll have to give up is your time."

   She hesitated a moment before pushing the pack back towards his hands, declining the offer, "Thanks Mr…"

    "Gohan," he supplied dutifully.

   Her eyes narrowed a bit, but her speech wasn't affected in the least and she didn't miss a beat. "But I think I'm gonna have to pass on your offer." _This guy's a horrible salesman_, she thought, a bit of pity tingeing her inner voice.

    "Pass?" he repeated, a bit mystified. "But—don't you even want to consider it? I mean…" She began to walk back towards the bag and stooped over, packing again, "…you haven't even heard what it's for."

   She dropped the shirt she held in her grasp and stood straight again, turning back, and crossed her arms over her chest impatiently. "Listen, Mr. Gohan, I've got another class in a quarter of an hour, and I really need to get over to the other gym—if you've got something to say, then make it quick."

   He squared his shoulders as if actually preparing for an attack, "Alright—Orange Star was the final city on a worldwide tour seeking out each city's top martial artists. West City is opening a new dojo, and we'd be very pleased if you would join our staff for the opening ceremonies two weeks from now, complimentary."

   She paused a moment, as if letting it sink in. "So…all you want me to do is go there for something as simple as opening ceremonies for a _dojo_? What kind of a place like that has _opening ceremonies_? And you expect me to just leave my kids here without an instructor while I go to a high-class party with a bunch of other windbags who wanna go on and on about their past tournament wins when _they_ were probably hiding out for the past twenty years just lik—"

    "Actually," he interrupted, as it appeared she wasn't going to stop her spiel anytime soon, "We'd be a lot happier if you enrolled at the new dojo."

   She blinked. "…as a teacher? If you haven't noticed, I've already got students, I don't intend to abandon them—"

    "No, as a student yourself."

   Another moment's pause, then a short coughing laugh forced its way from her mouth. "Y-you want…you think I need to train at your gym?" she managed between giggles. "What could you possibly be teaching there that some other dojo hasn't already mastered and passed on to its own students?"

   He smiled cryptically—this was exactly what he'd been waiting for—and she stopped laughing suddenly, eyes narrowing a bit more in confusion. "We'll see you in two weeks, miss." And with that he thrust the packet back into her hands, then turned on his heel and marched out the door, blasting into the sky, smirking triumphantly. Another one down. It was time to go home.

* * *

   Videl Satan gaped as the strange young man marched out of her gym without saying another word to her, then turned her eyes down to the packet he'd shoved back into her hands. Slinging her bag over a shoulder, she maneuvered herself into a tiny office and dropped the duffle into a waiting chair, still eyeing the pack, and picked up the receiver, dialing a number from memory.

   After a few rings, a weary male voice answered on the other end with a prerequisite, "South Golden Fighter Dojo, Amano speaking."

   "You have to start getting some sleep Amano," Videl chided over the line, and the boy clutched the receiver a bit more frantically and sat up straight in his seat, as if fearing the girl might see him lounging over the phone-line. "People are gonna start thinking we run a sleep clinic and not a martial arts gym if you keep nodding off at the front desk."

   "Well," he yawned loudly, "it's all the same, you know, 'dojo'… 'dozing'…" Videl laughed lightly over the line.

   "Whatever, Amano, whatever…"

   "So what'd you need? Shouldn't you be on your way over here?"

   She nodded though he couldn't see it. "I am, but I needed to ask a favor of you first."

   "…A favor? Sure, what?"

   Holding the phone between her neck and shoulders, she began throwing punching pads into the duffle bag as she talked. "I think…I might take a vacation in a couple of weeks. Just for a few days."

   He started, brows furrowing. "You getting overworked? 'Cause, I mean, I can call off a few classes—you don't have to train _all_ the time, you know…not anymore…" he added as an afterthought, voice softening a little around the delicate subject of the past decade or so.

   "I know, I know, and it's not overwork or anything like that. I just figured I'd get out and see the sights, you know."

   "Right…" Amano agreed, sarcasm lacing his voice. "And just where might you be taking your little break, since you seem so keen on being vague all of a sudden?"

   "Ah ah ah," she scolded, "First you have to promise to take over my classes when I go."

   "Aww, but—Videl! Those're the intermediate and advanced classes! _And_ the women's self-defense class! You _know_ how hard they kick—and _where_!" Nothing but light laughter drifted over the miles separating the two. "Fine…" he sighed in defeat, "I'll do it. Now, are you gonna tell me where you're going?"

   "West City—Capsule Corporation."

* * *

   Well, the room, at least, was nice.

   It was two weeks since the strange man named Gohan had come to her dojo peddling free airfare and a few nights' stay at a fairly decent hotel—considering most of the hotels in the vicinity were still under construction, this was probably the nicest available actually. She threw her bags into the center of the room and flopped onto the king-size bed, pleased at how comfortable it felt—not the usual hard lumpy mattress she was accustomed to sleeping on in the back room of the dojo back in Orange Star. She checked her watch and frowned; she needed to get to bed soon. Her flight had been slightly delayed for a passing storm, and she'd gotten in later than she'd intended after waiting nearly an hour to catch a cab. Surveying the other passengers at the airport, she wondered distantly if any of them were on their way to West City as she was, and what they'd been told—if anything—to expect. The "seminar" was slated on the schedule included in the packet to begin at 9:30 the next morning—far too early for any sane person, in her opinion. Still…what _had_ he been talking about when he dropped off so cryptically at her final question?

   Two weeks of stewing over possible answers had done nothing to calm her nerves. But now she was here, and in only a matter of hours she'd finally realize what he'd meant. With her luck, though, it'd all turn out to be a scam of some sort, just to get media attention. Sure, gather tons of martial artists at your dojo and invite a few key members of the press and _presto_: instant notoriety! With a frown she pushed herself up from the bed and unzipped her bag, rummaging through it in search of sleep clothes.

   Someone would pay if they were going to use her that way. And she had a pretty good idea who that someone would be. _If_ he even had the guts to show up at something like that and face all the people he'd duped into coming. She highly doubted it.

* * *

   8:30 came just as early in the morning as Videl had feared, but somehow she managed to coerce her feet into carrying the rest of her body into the shower to prepare for the 9:30 meeting, feeling much more refreshed and ready to face the day than before. She toweled her hair off and slipped into some comfortable yet casual clothes—as if she was going to try and make an impression for their little media frenzy! Letting her hair air dry for the next half hour, she snapped it up into a ponytail as she headed out the door down to the ground level to catch a taxi, her packet tucked firmly in the crook of one arm.

   Managing to successfully hail one within five minutes, she was rushed to the address—no less than Capsule Corp. itself—and stepped out onto its spacious green lawn, drawing in a deep breath to calm herself. A quick glance around informed her that she was not alone: capsule cars dotted the street in long rows on either side of the front walkway, and people were filing up to the main entryway in small groups. She slid into line behind a few well-built men and wrinkled her nose slightly—oh yes, this was _definitely_ a media event if she'd ever seen one. 

   One by one the other martial artists were ushered inside by a woman with short-cropped blue hair in a lab coat at the door, smiling and greeting each as he or she passed by, checking them off of a list on a clipboard she held in her hand.

   "Dojo?" she asked politely when it came Videl's turn.

   "Ah, North Golden Fighter Dojo, Orange Star City," she replied promptly, and the woman chuckled lightly and marked it off the list. She looked back up and pointed down a long hallway to her right, "Just head down here, last door on the left is where the meeting'll be." After a quick glance at her watch, the woman continued, "Actually it should be starting any minute now, you'd better hurry."

   "Thanks," she managed before being pushed to the side by the next group entering, then shoved her hands in her pockets and began traipsing down the hall. "Hmm, last door on the left was it?" It couldn't have been any door _other_ than the last on the left, apparently, as this was the only one open. The double doors were propped open, leading into a huge gym facility, windowless, with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Rows of chairs were set up, most of which were already filled, but Videl managed to spot one on the second row and squeezed in, if only to get a nice view of the fiasco she'd subjected herself to.

   Five minutes passed, when another set of double doors on the opposite wall were flung open, and a man barely Videl's height stepped into the room, a decidedly pissed expression flitting across his face, disdainful to say the least. Following close behind him was the same woman who'd been the door-keep when she'd entered, and behind them still was the man who'd come calling on her two weeks ago: Gohan. At his side was another, probably younger from his features, man who looked remarkably similar to the woman in front of him. Videl sat up to get a better view as the quartet stepped up on a small stage that had been erected for the meeting. While the short man appeared to want nothing to do with any of the room's occupants, Gohan and the younger man looked a bit apprehensive and anxious if she had to classify the air they were giving off. 

   The idle chatter of the room slowly died down when Gohan stepped forward, until eventually a deadly silence settled over all, and Videl shuddered a bit unconsciously when his dark eyes fell upon her as he surveyed the attendees. He cleared his throat, not unlike he'd done upon first meeting her.

   "Everyone, I'd like to thank you all for coming all the way here, I know it was quite a trip for some, but I trust the accommodations we've provided have been acceptable. It's been a few months since I've seen some of you, others I met only a few weeks ago. However, what matters now is that you all responded to my request that you come here and give me a chance to explain exactly what I'd like to do." He paused and cast a sideways glance at the lavender-haired man to his right. "First, however…I'd like to introduce myself. Some of you know my name, some don't. So…" The other man stepped slightly backwards, as if taking cover from something.

   "My name is Son Gohan, and I—" He stopped off for only a second, and had Videl blinked she would have missed the entire thing. It was as if time had slowed to a crawl, and looking back, she wouldn't be able to tell anyone how she managed to stay conscious and not faint from shock. A brilliant explosion of light erupted on stage, temporarily blinding all within ten feet of him, and when vision finally returned to the onlookers, Gohan seemed to have disappeared, replaced by a new being. One with vibrant golden hair and bottomless teal eyes, "—am a Saiyan."

   At this he stepped back as his companion had done, and now it was the other man who stepped forward for an introduction. "And my name is Trunks Briefs, and _I_—" Another eruption of light, "—am also a Saiyan."

* * *

   _Him_…_him_…_him_…

   Over and over and over the chant repeated, a steady drumbeat of realization pounding in her head. The very namesake of the dojos she'd established with Amano, here, before her very eyes, in the flesh, after nearly a decade and a half. _Gohan_…

   She should leave; she should leave _right now_. She should just rise up from her seat, turn and walk down the row, and just keep going until she was back in Orange Star. It would all be for the best that she just forget about this whole thing and return to her normal life as a martial arts teacher to those that came seeking training. That's what she should have done.

   Videl Satan, though, was seldom one to do as she should. Instead, she remained firmly planted in her seat, quietly seething, fingers digging into the soft cushion of her chair like claws, eyes narrowing all the while until she could barely see out of them. But that was fine, she didn't need to see. She'd already seen it before. Thirteen years ago.

   As if that night would ever leave her memory…seeing the lonely-faced boy, backlight with that strange orange flickering light of the fires blazing around their home, eyes so full of rage and anger that she'd actually feared for her own life. She could still feel the pull of her hand against the rough cloth of his gi pants as he'd taken to the sky when she'd begged him not to go, and could still feel the warm rush of air that had sent her hurtling back to the ground as he exploded in that same burst of light…

   _Gohan_…_it was you_…_it was always you_… Somehow, before he'd even spoken his name two weeks before, she'd felt something from him. Some connection that she couldn't quite see, thin and glossy as a spider's web, but just as existent. It was there, and she could feel it, but couldn't grasp it—until now. 

   The room had slid into mild chaos upon the flashes of light that sent Gohan and Trunks into Super Saiyan form, with confused chatter sprinkled about the room as the attendees conversed among themselves as to just what in the world a 'Saiyan' was. All questions were silenced, though, when Gohan stepped forward again, hands clasped behind his back, hair still a brilliant gold hue.

   "I know the question that's on all your minds right now, and that you're all wondering if this is real, or just some sick joke. I can assure that it is _quite_ real, though to explain it all would require more time than we've been given right now. I will tell you this, though: Each of you was personally selected to come to Capsule Corp. and train with Trunks and me. Many of you have already voiced your questions on this subject: what sort of training?" He turned to Trunks now.

   "Inside all living beings there is an energy well, which with time and training can grow and be used. This _ki_ as we call it, is how this planet has been kept safe for the past forty years—and many of us haven't even been around that long." Trunks lifted into the air some ten feet, twisting a bit for show to assure any onlooker that he was most definitely _not _being held up by any wire or pulley system. "Ki martial arts extends to flying, as you see Trunks now," he gestured to the boy, "As well—" Gohan formed a baseball-sized energy sphere in his hand and tossed it to his pupil, who batted it away into the far western wall with no more force than swatting away an annoying insect, whereupon it formed a five-foot radius hole in the wall, much to Bulma's dismay, who stamped her foot angrily from the side, "—as energy blasts." All eyes in the audience had now grown to twice their normal size from pure shock, and even Videl couldn't remain blasé about the show, arms relaxing a bit as she followed the blast.

   "Saiyans can use ki, humans can use ki, and there are many other races that can use ki as well—but that's for another time. What matters now is the choice you make here: We want to teach you, to train you all in ki martial arts. You are the best of the best, the pride of your respective cities, in short—the strongest humans on Earth. But you have only scratched the _surface_ of your true potential. You all have only recently recovered from the twenty years of terror the androids unleashed upon us. Some of you lived in fear, hiding for the most part…others…well, you're probably wondering what you're doing here, and why you're not dead, because you distinctly remember dying…but I digress." He smiled softly and crossed his arms over his chest. 

    "They did not suddenly disappear—they were defeated. But could they be beaten again, or if someone stronger came, could _they_ be defeated? It's doubtful. And I don't know about you, but I grew up on this planet, it's my home, and I will do everything within my power to protect it and its inhabitants. Even going so far as to pass that power onto others. Hear me: if you accept my offer of training, it will be hard, it will be near impossible at times, you will have the utmost expected of you, for you'll be training to defend this planet from beings so powerful you can't even begin to comprehend their strength. You will face pain, you will face death, but you will always remember the higher purpose: the greater good.

   "This is all I have left to offer my planet…and I pray it will be enough." His voice dropped off, echoing slightly off of the far walls until the same deathly silence that had pervaded the room before once again settled upon them. "You have three days to make your decision, please use them wisely. This is not a task to be undertaken lightly, it is a lifelong commitment. Many of you have separate lives you're anxious to return to, and I understand that completely. Some of you, though, I hope will take me up. Thank you, and good afternoon."

* * *

   Slowly the flood of bodies crowded towards the double doors they'd entered by, squeezing and shoving to get out, back to their respective hotel rooms to let the entire speech sink in. Many were still in shock, the force of realization not having yet slammed into them. It would hit sometime around five minutes from now, frightening many a cabbie as their passengers slipped into dead faints.

   For Videl there was no rush whatsoever—at least for herself. She'd actually feel better the sooner everyone else left. Because then she could give him a piece of her mind she'd kept for just such an occasion for thirteen years. She made as if to file for the door along with everyone else, but stopped just before exiting and slid to the right, body propped up against the wall as she leaned backwards, still fuming inside, arms firmly crossed over her chest. Up on the stage, Gohan and the one who'd introduced himself as Trunks conversed lightly, both having now dropped back to their normal state—no doubt pondering the impact of the demonstration on the masses now exiting the building. Every now and then they would turn and direct their queries to the shorter man who'd hung behind, who would offer short inaudible retorts, often accompanied by the woman smacking him sharply across the shoulder in reprimand. This display carried on for ten minutes, until it seemed the only occupants left in the gym were Videl and the four on stage. She pushed off the wall and slowly approached _him_.

   The loud clopping of her boots on the hardwood floor was enough to snap Gohan and the others from their conversation, and he brightened when he noticed her approaching their group. Turning, he stepped down off the stage and began to advance on her, "Well? I told you you should've come—was it anything like what you were expect—"

   _SLAP_

   Her hand connected solidly with the smooth flesh of his cheek, and though she'd intended to hurt only him, her palm was now throbbing painfully, and he seemed more shocked than in pain. His mouth hung halfway agape and he pulled his upper-body back in recoil, eyes wide and confused.

   "…How _dare_ you…" she hissed through clenched teeth, thirteen year's worth of bitter regret and anger bubbling over like a pot left for too long on a burner. "How _dare_ you bring me here… after so long…"

   He fumbled stupidly for words of reply, and she couldn't help but flash back to their first meeting. He'd knocked her down, he'd been so strong, and yet so obviously still a child mentally… "Wha—what are you…talking about…?"

   Her frown, if it was at all possible, deepened in disgust, and she spat out, "Videl Satan, of the Orange Star City Orphans."

   His perplexed and pained expression remained for about another half-second before realization slammed into him with more force than one of his father's Kamehamehas, and his skin tone took on an ashen gray hue, giving him the distinct appearance that he was about to be quite sick. And indeed, he seemed to sway a bit as his eyes blurred in and out of focus until Trunks, who'd been watching the display between the two with his mother and father, rushed to his side in the blink of an eye, steadying his former master.

   "Gohan—_Gohan_?! Are you alright? Gohan?!" He gave no audible response, merely waved off the aid and slowly straightened back up, peering deep into her eyes. They were quivering slightly, though he doubted it was from sadness as much as anger. The eyes _she_ saw were wounded and hurt, nearly impossible to connect to the bright mirthful ones she'd watched walk out of the door of her dojo two weeks ago.

   "I…I'm sorry…" he managed, though the tone implied more of a realization that yes, he _was_ sorry, as if the thought had never occurred to him before. And perhaps, she pondered, it might not have.

   "'_Sorry'_?You _abandoned _us, Gohan…" she whispered spitefully, "you left us alone, to fend for ourselves, when those _monsters_ were hovering around, just waiting for us to show our faces—"

   "I left to save you!" he snapped back, a bit more forcefully and defensively than he would've liked, now once again in full control of his faculties. Trunks pulled back, not hardly wanting to get in the middle of this fight, whatever it was over. "If I hadn't left, they would've just come back for me… do you really think I wanted to go?! If it had been up to me, I would've stayed there forever! But no—I stayed for just six months, and look what happened! Every last one of them—"

   "Not everyone!" she objected; this was turning into more of a trial for _her_ than him. He wasn't supposed to turn the tables like this! It was supposed to be _she_ who was mad. "_I_ survived, Amano survived, Sari, Nole, they all survived! And what did they have to wake up to? Certainly not what they'd gone to sleep to! You _ran_ Gohan, ran away from your home, because that's what it was to all of us—_your_ home, just as much as it was mine or theirs. When we woke up, and you weren't there, it _killed_ us, Gohan—we were angry, we were scared—"

   "_I_ was scared too! I was fourteen years old, Videl, I shouldn't have had to be doing any of the things I was. You think I _liked_ leaving that night? No, but when my other option was staying and putting you all in danger _again_, it seemed like the best choice at the time!" His chest heaved beneath the heavy gi shirt he wore as he drew in deeper and deeper breaths in an effort to properly oxygenate himself.

   She lowered her head and covered her face, frustrated, with her palms as if shielding herself from his and the others' gaze. "…I was all they had left after that attack…and you were all _I_ had left… and then you went away…" Her voice cracked on the last statement, and inside she was reliving that morning all over again

   _Look over, the sun's just rising, the fire's long dead_…_Amano asleep across the way, Nole, Sari_…_the children_…_Goh—_

   But there was no Gohan. Nor would there ever be a Gohan ever again. They stayed in that spot for a week, and every morning she would wake before the sun rose and just watch for him, sometimes even lying down as he'd done, ignoring the gravel and shards of debris digging into her exposed flesh, and just close her eyes and dream that he was back, and it was all like before. When they were all laughing and retrieving presents for the children, scolding Niko for frightening the younger children, praising Nole for his knack for comforting them afterwards…

   She sobbed loudly without realizing it, then broke down further into tears as warm motherly arms enveloped her, with Bulma stroking her hair as if she were her own daughter. "Shh…shhh…" she soothed, and the two stood like this for the next ten minutes while the men looked on in awkward silence.

* * *

   Once again Videl was ushered into a room by Bulma, though this time she was shown into the kitchen for some, "proper nourishment," as the older woman called it. True, Videl remarked mentally, she hadn't had a decent meal in over twenty-four hours since leaving for the East City Airport—the only one within miles that was already operational again—and she'd been in such a dazed state still in the gym that she couldn't possible object to the woman who guided her into the inner rooms of the building, with the three Saiyans trailing behind, two slightly curious, one quite guilt-ridden. 

   "Here." Bulma passed a bowl of soup across the table to Videl, and assumed a seat across from her, the others doing the same around her. Manners alone stayed her from diving into the meal like a starving dog, but still she ate a bit more ravenously than normal, slurping down the liquid in large gulps. Smiling, Bulma remarked lightly, "Almost reminds me of you Saiyans…"

   Videl looked up quickly, spoon an inch from her mouth, confusion evident in her eyes, but she was waved off. "Never mind, never mind…" so she continued her meal. After a few more minutes and a few more refills, it seemed her hunger was pretty much sated, and she sighed contentedly, turning to Bulma.

   "Thanks so much for the meal, Mrs. Briefs," she spoke, her first words since her outburst with Gohan. The four onlookers exchanged glances, then smiled slightly—so, she could actually form words without yelling them, could she?

   "Please, there's no need for such formalities. Really, just call me Bulma…Videl, right?" A nod was returned. "Well," she sighed, "I'd like to be able to say something witty like, 'So _you_'_re _the girl we've heard so much about,' but I can't since, well, we _haven't_ heard anything about you."

   "Yes, just who exactly _are_ you, girl? And how is it you know this boy?" Vegeta, obviously, was the next to introduce himself in contemptuous tones, jerking a thumb over to Gohan on hi left. "You're not his mate or anything are you?" He stood up abruptly and placed his hands firmly on the table, leaning forward, "Because I'll be _damned_ if any brat of Kakarrot's is going to be getting some before _my_—"

   "_VEGETA_!" The elder Saiyan once again winced in protest as a fist came down on the back of his head, dotting his vision with tiny pinpricks of light. The octave the voice had shot up to made it obvious whom it had come from, but he certainly couldn't remember the woman being able to hit so hard. Maybe she'd been secretly training all these years, preparing for his imminent return…the thought was too horrible to dwell on, so he shook it off quickly. 

   "Really, though," Trunks interjected conversationally, "Just how _do_ you know Gohan? I've known him for…jeez, it's got to have been nearly ten years now, hasn't it?"

   He nodded in affirmation, "Yeah, but you knew me three years too late to have known Videl…We…kinda met up in Orange Star back in the first years of fighting the androids…" He clasped his hands together in front of his mouth, as if thinking, remembering. "It was probably three years after I'd left home to fight on my own…and I came to Orange Star to see if there was anyone left, or if I was too late again…and then…"

   "He met us," Videl added softly, gaze unfocused, staring at nothing, "And stayed for six months…"

   In an effort to lighten the conversation, Bulma playfully queried, "Oh? 'Stayed', huh? As in you lived with a _girl_?My my, Gohan, I didn't think you had it in ya…" Vegeta snorted at the incredulity of it all, quickly covering his mouth to keep a harsh bark of laughter from squeezing out.

   Gohan started, then remembered just who was making the comment, and idly returned, "Well, if by 'lived with' you mean I stayed under the same roof as her in a gender-segregated abandoned furniture store along with about fifty other children, most of whom were younger than me—then yes, we lived together. Quite happily, I might add." He spared a quick glance at Videl, who despite her very best efforts was failing to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching up into a smile, shoulders slightly shaking trying to contain her laughter. "Videl was the leader of a group of children made orphans by the android attacks," he added.

   "Not so much a leader," she objected, "as a resident caretaker—"

   "—and taskmaster, if I recall."

   "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

   "Oh yeah, you should've heard the boys at night, 'Man, that Videl, she had me cleaning the shower stalls _again_—'"

   "Come on, you can't tell me you believed _everything_ Niko said—" Her eyes widened in horror and she swiftly clapped a shaking hand over her own mouth, abruptly cutting off the banter. It was amazing how easily they'd sunk back into their roles as friends after thirteen years apart, and even more amazing how easily they'd both forgotten just _why_ it had been thirteen years since they'd seen each other.

   Once again Trunks, Bulma, and Vegeta could do nothing but look on in mixed worry and confusion as the two chatted back and forth like old friends, oblivious to their onlookers, then suddenly broke off, cold and detached once more.

   "I…I didn't mean to…I just for—"

   "Forgot, I know…" he interrupted gently, "I guess I kinda did too…" The silence continued, and the minutes ticked by at a snail's pace. "It's just…with you here…it seemed like…like it was back to the way it was before…" He looked up at her, and she could feel his dark eyes boring into the crown of her head, willing her to look up and meet them, "you know?"

   She nodded silently, reluctant to speak again for fear something else might come shooting out that she would immediately regret. Gohan gauged her, knowing full well he was treading on very thin ice at the moment—it was best to stay away from that topic for the moment, though he wasn't so naïve anymore to think that this was the end of it by any means. Instead, he questioned casually, "…So, what've you been doing all this time? Thirteen years…you have to have some stories."

   This seemed to perk her up a bit, "Well, you saw the dojo when you came to Orange Star, though why you came to that one is beyond me…"

   "What?" he spoke, and this garnered the others' attentions as well, who had been trying to be polite by looking away or simply keeping quiet while the two talked. "Why shouldn't I have gone there?"

   "Oh, it's not so much that you _shouldn't_ have, really," she explained, "It's just, most people don't know about it."

   "What're you talking about?" He was even more confused now, "You must've had thirty kids in there with you—and you're trying to tell me people didn't know about your dojo?"

   "No, no," she recovered, "Just most people don't know about _that_ one. North Golden Fighter is the new one—we've already got another one well established in the old downtown district, ironically enough two block down from the old furniture store. We had to expand, so Amano tends the old one while I run extra classes at the new one."

   Gohan's eyes lit up in recognition and excitement, "A—Amano?! You—he runs the dojo with you?!"

   He was nearly tripping over his words as he was wont to do when he got too excited or nervous, and she nearly smiled again, but suppressed it, putting in its place a sideways glance. "Yeah…he teaches beginners' classes twice a week…why?"

   "It's just—I didn't know he was there too! Well," he corrected himself, calming a bit, "I didn't know _you_ were there in the first place, but it never struck me he might still be there too. This is great!"

   "Umm, he'll be glad to know you're alive and well too," she spoke, voice tainted with a sarcastic tone, "But just why is it so great?" Apparently the others wanted to know as well, as Gohan rarely became so excited as he was now.

   Instead of replying, he turned to Trunks, whose brow was creased in confusion as to his teacher's motives. "You think we can handle another student?" Ah, _now_ he understood what this was all about…

   "W—wait, Gohan!" Videl objected.

   "Huh?"

   "Well, we can't just call him and say 'Hey Amano, ran into an old friend of ours today, wanna learn how to fly?'"

   He blinked. "…Why not?"

   Dear Kami, was he _still_ this naïve? _Please_ let him have matured some over the years… "Well, for one thing, he's the only one left to run the dojos. Acted like he was gonna have a heart attack when I told him I was going away for a few days. Can you imagine what it'd be like if he had to do it all himself the entire time? As it is I'm gonna have a hard enough time staying here myself—and before you even ask, of _course_ I'm staying and training with you, you really think I'd decline?—but if _he_ left as well, then there wouldn't be any instructors left."

   Gohan frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. That would've been perfect too…the three of them together again…he looked up when he felt a hand tapping him on the shoulder, and turned to the side, peering straight into Bulma's eyes. She motioned for him to lean down and whispered into his ear.

   Apparently whatever she'd said definitely agreed with Gohan, for his face lit up once more just as it had been. "So, you're saying you'd call him and convince him to come and train if you can get someone to watch the dojo for you?"

   She narrowed her eyes—what was he playing at now. "…Yeah, I guess so," she conceded, though still unsure of what he was beating around. "…Why?"

   Bulma was already at Gohan's side, the cordless phone blaring a dial tone.

* * *

_Post Chapter Notes:_ Well, can you guess how they're gonna work it out? Digital cookie and a gold star if you know who Gohan's gonna call in! I COULD give you a hint…but I'm not. Whee, my first real chapter update in over a month. Man it feels good to get that outta my system. Now, I suppose this means I should get the next IAS out soon huh? Yeah yeah…—sage


End file.
